The heir
by JennyWren
Summary: A long time ago Christine promised Erik her first son as an heir for his world. She has almost forgotten it. He has not.
1. Chapter One

**The heir**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters from "The Phantom of the Opera". They belong to Gaston Leroux / Andrew Lloyd Webber.

**Chapter One**

**August 6th 1887: **_Christine_

Oh the pain! A searing pain that would surely split my body in half! Why couldn´t it just stop? I didn´t want to lie here anymore, on my back like a helpless beetle. I wanted to leave this room and enjoy the sunshine outside. Maybe Raoul and I could take a stroll in the park or even ride out on horseback. I missed nature and its beauties, ripe wheat fields, dotted with poppies, little bluebirds singing in the sky…

From far away a voice drifted to my ears. "A final time, Madame, then it´s over!" I summoned up all my strength and pressed… and pressed. Then it was indeed over. The pain decreased to a bearable level, and as I opened my eyes slowly I noticed that my bedroom was filled with warm sunlight. What a wonderful day to be born!

When my panting gave way to even breaths I was able to hear a new sound: the unmistakable screaming of a newborn baby. "Can I see it, please?", I asked, my voice hoarse from my own screaming. "Just a moment, Madame!", Mme.Lamière, the midwife, called. "I have to wash your little one, then you can hold it." I tried to sit up by myself, yet I was too exhausted. It was as if all the pain which had rushed through my body like quicksilver before had turned into lead, making my body very heavy.

Only with the help of Jacqueline, one of our maids, could I finally get myself into an upright position. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that she took a towel from the bedside table and dipped a corner of it into a small bowl of water. The cool liquid was soothing my flushed skin as the girl wiped my face. A little bit of my old energy returned to me at once. Now all I wanted was my child.

After maybe a minute Mme.Lamière turned around and carried a bundle wrapped tightly in pieces of white cloth over to the bed. Smiling brightly she placed it in my arms. As I looked into the baby´s eyes I was overcome by a wave of happiness and affection. It was so tiny, so defenceless, and I loved it so much. "Hello little one! I´m your maman.", I whispered, not caring about the tears running down my cheeks and seeping in the cloth.

Unfortunately the world isn´t meant to be perfect for more than a few moments. With the midwife´s next words my happiness shattered on the cold ground of reality. "Congratulations, Mme. de Chagny. You have a healthy boy." ´No!´, a voice in my head screamed. It wasn´t possible. It couldn´t be. "Please God, no!", I whimpered. The tears now flowing over my face were no longer those of joy. "No…", I kept muttering. This one word was filling my head. "No, no, no, no, no, no…"

I heard Jacqueline ask: "What´s the matter with her?". She sounded scared. How could _she_ be scared? "It´s a… well, a normal reaction.", Mme.Lamière explained. "The birth was very tiresome. For such a slim woman even the second time can be an ordeal. She simply needs a little time to recover, then she´ll be fine. Tell the cook to prepare a pot of the herbal tea I gave him and a good broth."

None of her words made the slightest sense. No amount of recovery and broth would improve my situation. Why did it have to be a boy? Why? For years I had included the wish to have only girls in my daily prayer. Once it had worked. And when I had become pregnant again I had started saying an additional prayer in the morning. I had always been a pious girl, a faithful wife, a loving mother. For what reason had I got such a punishment?

When I woke up again I was lying on my side and the room was completely dark. I gave a sigh of relief. It had been nothing but a dream. My child wasn´t born yet. Surely it wouldn´t turn out to be a boy. Everything was all right. Comforted by this knowledge I let my hand wander down my body. Yet when it reached its destination I stopped dead. My belly was no longer round and swollen as before. It was empty… terribly empty.

At once I was wide awake. It hadn´t been a dream. Where was my baby? I peered through the darkness, but could hardly lift my head. "Raoul?", I called weakly. A lamp was lit next to the bed; its light was strangely soothing. Just a moment later I heard my husband´s soft voice. "I´m here, Christine.", he whispered. With an enormous effort I looked up.

There he was, sitting on a stool, and in his strong arms he held a white bundle. "I´ve been here all the time, but you slept and slept and didn´t notice anything.", he told me. "You didn´t even wake up when Mme.Lamière extracted a bit of your… erm, your milk and bottled it to feed our child. She left half an hour ago, saying I could take care of him. And that´s what I did."

I saw his eyes sparkle with pride and couldn´t help smiling faintly. It was a pity that I had missed the first time Raoul had seen him son. "Antoinette was here as well.", he went on after a moment. "She wanted to check how the two of you were. You should have seen her holding her little brother; she did it very well." "Where is she now?", I wanted to know. I was slightly shocked that I hadn´t thought of my daughter for such a long time and wanted to make it up quickly.

"She insisted on staying with you, but I didn´t let her. She´s still recovering from a cold – it would have been too risky.", he replied. "I sent her to her room. She didn´t want to be alone, though. So I made Jacqueline sleep there as well. Was that a good decision?" "Yes. You´re a wonderful, father, Raoul.", I told him. His cheeks flushed a little. "Thank you. I only wished I´d have more time for you and the child… children, I mean."

As if he had sensed that he had been mentioned the baby began to stir. Raoul moved his arms back and forth. "I think I should better put him into his cradle.", my husband commented, standing up. "See? I´ve placed it right next to our bed." His thoughtfulness was one of the things I loved most about him. I watched him lay his son down, as cautiously as if his little body was made of glass.

Then he came to bed as well. Clothes fell to the floor, and he disappeared from my range of vision. A moment later a slight creaking and a weight on the mattress told me that he had sat down. He lifted the blanket and pressed his warm body against mine from behind. An arm sneaked to the front and wrapped itself around my waist. We had spent countless nights in this position, talking to the baby in low voices and finally falling asleep, knowing that we´d be together for all times.

"Oh no!", he mumbled. "I forgot to extinguish the lamp. Now I have to get up again." "No!", I muttered quickly. "Can´t we just let it burn for a while till it goes out by itself?" "Well… all right.", Raoul replied with a yawn. Apparently he was too tired to argue, even though he preferred sleeping in the dark. Yet I needed the light. The knot of fear in my stomach had shrunk during the last minutes, but it was still there. And I knew that just like moths were drawn to the light, other creatures fled from it. Especially the creature I was dreading more than anyone else…

**Author´s note: **Even though it´ll come up in later chapters, I thought I should mention right away that both children are Raoul´s. Just to make things clear…


	2. Chapter Two

**Author´s note: **Please pay attention to the dates! This chapter takes place long before the first one. I apologise for jumping around in time like that, but it´ll become better in the next chapters.

**Chapter Two**

**November 11th 1880:** _Erik_

It was a completely normal night. For the fifth or sixth time in this month, my voice had woken up Christine long after the girls had fallen asleep and led her from her dormitory to an unused room at the other side of the building. No one could hear us there. And even in the unlikely case that somebody noticed the light: Who´d dare come in and disturb the Opera Ghost?

Christine had sung very well tonight, but of course I wasn´t foolish enough to tell her so. Praise could easily spoil a young girl, and I enjoyed her naturalness. She wasn´t as vain as the other members of the chorus, at least not yet. "We´ll end this lesson for today. You may go.", I said, and obediently she started gathering her few belongings, the coat she had worn to keep out the chilly air in the corridors and the song book that had mysteriously turned up on her bed one day. I watched her through the rectangular window I had built in the wall. It looked just like a mirror from the other side. Admittedly it wasn´t half as good as its bigger version. Yet that one was inaccessible at the moment. After all, I couldn´t teach the girl in another singer´s dressing room. The big mirror was reserved for later. If I´d ever use it at all, that was…

Her voice pulled me out of my thoughts abruptly. "Can I ask you something before I leave?", she muttered. I could see her fingers move through her long hair nervously; it didn´t seem to be easy to address me that directly. "Certainly.", I replied. "What do you want to know?" She hesitated for a few moments, then blurted out: "What is it like to be in Heaven?". I was taken aback by her question. Christine was a very quiet girl, and we hadn´t talked about anything but music yet. So far, she had blindly accepted that I was an angel sent by her father.

My whole body tensed. So it wasn´t surprising that my voice sounded a little harsh as I said: "I thought the priests told you more than enough about this topic every Sunday.". Her answer came very slowly, and it grew so quiet that I could hardly understand her anymore. "Yes, but… I wanted to hear it from you because… you´ve lived in Heaven for… forever, haven´t you? And I… well, sometimes I try to imagine what you do when you´re not with me… Do you go up there after every lesson?"

Although I was relieved that she didn´t question my identity, I also reminded myself of being wary. A wrong word could easily shatter the illusion I had built so carefully. "I do not live in Heaven, child.", I told her. Before the puzzled expression on her face could turn into a curious one I continued talking. "I own an entire world at a secret place only I know the way to. It is very beautiful. You have to understand that I can no longer be in Heaven because I have to take care of you. I´m always at your side."

Watching her pretty cheeks flush was a pleasure. "Thank you. I´m very grateful for that.", she whispered. Her next question seemed to take a little longer to form in her head. I waited patiently. As long as I was in control of the conversation nothing could make me nervous. "And you live there… all alone?", she finally asked. Coming from any other girl this sentence would have sounded suggestive, but not from Christine Daaé. Her naivety made it sound as if she wanted to know whether the horse wasn´t lonely in its stable.

For a fleeting moment I was caught in a daydream about bringing her to my underground world. Yet the rational part of my mind interrupted it much too soon. I couldn´t show myself to her. She only knew angels from pictures and the windows of churches. Seeing me would probably cause her to pass out. And even if she´d survive the shock that I was quite the opposite of a heavenly being, it was too risky for me. I could already sense that my feelings for her were more than those for a gifted student, and I couldn´t allow myself to become even more attached to her.

"Yes, I live alone.", I replied. "But that´s what I´m used to. It´s just…" An idea hit me so suddenly that I jumped slightly. I didn´t have enough time to think about it more carefully. Such an ideal occasion might have never come back. "…I don´t have anyone who´ll inherit everything.", I went on with a well-placed sigh. "Inherit?" Now Christine sounded even more confused than when I had admitted I didn´t live in Heaven. "You cannot… angels cannot die."

"Some of us can.", I disagreed. "When our protégé leaves us and goes out into the world…" "Oh, I´ll never do that!", she called anxiously. My heart contracted painfully as I watched her grip around the song book tighten. Yet for my idea it was necessary to make her upset. I couldn´t spare her. "You will.", I said flatly. "One day you´ll marry and go to live with your husband."

It seemed that the topic was a little delicate for Christine began to chew on her bottom lip. After some moments she told me: "The other girls say I won´t ever marry. I´m just an orphan; I don´t have enough money to buy pretty dresses. No man will notice me.". "Oh, they will notice you.", I muttered, with just a hint of bitterness in my voice. "One day you´ll be a wonderful wife and mother." I tried my best to ignore the small part of my mind which shouted that one man had already noticed her. The only problem was that she didn´t know I was a human being.

And then, quite suddenly, she uttered the sentence I had waited for. "If I really have children one day, you shall have one of them… as an heir. Then you won´t ever forget me, even though I won´t be with you." I could hardly believe how easy this had been. "All right, Christine. On your first son´s fifth birthday I´ll come to get him. Do you promise that you´ll allow me to take him with me?" "I promise.", she whispered. Her large brown eyes had a serious glance. "So shall it be.", I declared solemnly. It was done.

"But let us not talk about this subject anymore.", I went on. "It is years and years from now… Besides, it is time to return to your dormitory. When you´re in bed I´ll sing you a lullaby, so that you´ll fall asleep quickly." The last thing I wanted was her lying awake and pondering about what we had discussed. The girl seemed to have no idea of how important her promise would be, and I intended her not to realise it until the day when I´d visit her.

Christine nodded and left the room. I followed her, using my secret passageways through the building. She was such a good girl. Maybe I´d be able to risk showing myself to her and telling her the entire truth one day. In the unlikely case that she´d actually develop some kind of feelings for me, her promise would be invalid. And if not, I´d at least have an heir, even though it wouldn´t be my own child. Both ways were acceptable. I quickened my pace. My angel was waiting for her lullaby.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter three**

**August 7th 1887: **_Christine_

I woke up with a start, and for a moment I had no idea where I was. All I could see was a white ceiling. It was very quiet. Where were the other girls? Had I overslept? In horror I realised that there was someone breathing evenly next to me. Who was lying in my bed? It could only be a certain somebody. "Erik…", I muttered. It took me a lot of courage to pull out a hand from under the blanket and touch the person´s hair. It was silky and longer than the wig Erik had worn.

Then everything fell into place: I had only dreamed about being a chorus girl, and of course the man lying next to me was my husband. Running my fingers through his hair again and again I gave a soundless sigh of relief. Fortunately he was still sleeping soundly and hadn´t heard me. Even though it had only been for a moment, I was shocked by my assumption that Erik could lie in my bed. He and I had never been together in such a sinful way. Raoul had been my first man and he´d be my last.

As one of my fingernails accidentally scratched his ear Raoul stirred. Quickly my hand left his head, but it was too late: I had woken him up. He opened his large blue eyes and smiled at me. "Good morning, love.", he whispered, leaning forwards to place a light kiss on the tip of my nose. "How was the night?"

"Noisy.", I replied, trying to remember how often I had got up because the baby had been screaming on top of his tiny lungs. It had been at last four or five times. The breast-feeding had worked surprisingly well, though; it obviously belonged to the kind of things one didn´t forget. Still it wasn´t exactly astonishing that I had dreamed about odd things in the few hours I had slept.

Kissing his lips briefly I went on: "I hope our child will take a leaf out of your book soon and adopt your sleeping habits. You wouldn´t even have woken up if the house had been on fire.". "I´m sorry.", he muttered, looking at me like a little boy who had broken the milk jug. "But even if I had been awake, how could I have helped you? If the little one is hungry, there isn´t much I can do about it."

I gave him an affectionate smile. Of course he was right. I could be grateful for having a husband who cared for the children at all. Judging by the stories I had heard this wasn´t always the case. "As soon as possible we´ll hire a maid to help you with the child.", Raoul promised. "Jacqueline is busy with Antoinette most of the time. Besides, I don´t think our little princess would be too pleased about sharing her. What´s your opinion? Shall I arrange for an advertisement to be published in the newspaper?"

"That sounds like a very good idea.", I praised him. I was aware that in the first weeks and months my presence at the baby´s side would be necessary day and night. After all, we had to get to know each other, and I didn´t want to miss the first time he´d smile or lift his head. But later some help would be very useful, if only for my daughter´s sake. Another maid would enable me to spend more time with Antoinette.

A little whimper came out of the cradle. It wasn´t quite a screaming yet, but I knew how quickly that could change. So I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I couldn´t help noticing that there had been days when this had looked much more graceful. "I guess that proves I´m no longer a chorus girl.", I remarked dryly, grabbing my rose-coloured dressing gown from a stool. The countless creases showed that Raoul had sat on it last night. Shrugging I wrapped it around my body and stood up.

"That´s true.", my husband said. He used the time I needed to take our little one out of the cradle to get up as well. When I sat down with the baby on the comfortable armchair opposite the window he stood next to us. Watching his son, who was no longer whimpering, but giving small sounds with his rosy lips and tongue, he went on: "You used to be the prettiest girl of all. And now you´re the most beautiful woman. Motherhood… well, it suits you.". He gave me a loving smile, but turned his head into the other direction quickly as I opened my dressing gown to feed the baby. Still I knew what he was referring to. I had often seen him cast glances of longing at my breasts, which had grown larger and fuller.

As I didn´t want to make him embarrassed by going into more detail I simply changed the subject. "What name would you like the little one to have?", I asked. Since I had dreaded giving birth to a boy, I hadn´t thought about names for one either. "What about Philippe?", he suggested instantly. "I´ve always wished for my first son to have the name of my late brother. Can you understand that?"

"Of course I can.", I replied gently. Now that he had mentioned it I remembered him telling me about it some months earlier. "Philippe sounds lovely, just right for a little boy. It´s a pity that he isn´t there anymore to become the baby´s godfather. I´m sure he´d have liked it." Actually I hardly knew more about this man than that he had been Raoul´s older brother and that he had found an early death in the depths of Lake Averne. Yet my husband still missed him dearly. When his birthday or the day of his death came closer Raoul grew very quiet.

It was just the same now: He nodded in response to my words, and I could see the melancholy in his eyes. To distract him I lifted my arms, still holding our baby. "Do you want to have little Philippe for a while?", I asked. He bent down and stretched out his arms, but then his gaze fell on the grandfather clock in the corner. "It´s already past nine!", he exclaimed. "I have to go."

"What?", I muttered. "But Raoul… not today…" Giving me an apologetic smile he explained: "It´s an important meeting with two of my business partners. One of them has come back earlier from Norway, just because he needs to talk to me. You have to understand… I´ll be home for dinner, I promise. And I´ll send Jacques to the newspaper." He kissed my cheek, stroked Philippe´s soft hair and was out of the door before I could utter more than "Goodbye!".

I stared after him for a moment, sighing. Then I pulled myself together. Some thing simply had to be accepted. I knew that Raoul would have preferred staying with me. But what should he do? He was the only male de Chagny left, so everyone had expected him to take over certain duties. For a moment my heart was light with joy as I realised that there was a second male de Chagny now, even though it was still a very small one.

Yet when I remembered the dream I had had my heart grew heavy. For the umpteenth time I had dreamed about the night of my promise. Although the memory was blurred, I could still feel the old admiration. I had actually been proud because someday I´d be able to do my angel, who had helped me that much, a favour as well. How stupid I had been! As I had had this dream so often it was hard to decide which parts had truly happened, but hope as I might I knew that I had made that promise. On Philippe´s fifth birthday he´d come to get him.

Or wouldn´t he? Somehow the danger was far less imminent at daytime. I hadn´t been to the opera myself a single time after Raoul had rescued me, but I was still in touch with both Meg and Mme.Giry, who had even become my first child´s godmother. Neither of them had ever told me about odd disappearings or mysterious accidents. Maybe Erik had left his home and was now haunting another opera house. He could even have… I knew it wasn´t right to assume such a thing, but the last time I had met him he had already been at least as old as my father. Perhaps he wasn´t among the living anymore.

Although I instantly felt guilty for it, this thought made me feel less anxious. When my son had finished his meal I made the necessary arrangements for putting him back into the cradle for a little nap. Yet I had barely closed my dressing gown as there was a knock on the door. "Come in!", I called. Jacqueline entered the room. Of course she couldn´t resist the newborn baby´s charm. "Isn´t he lovely?", she breathed, looking down at him with a dreamy smile. Cautiously she touched his tiny fists. "His name is Philippe.", I informed her. "That´s beautiful.", she commented.

"Have you only come to see him again?", I wanted to know. She shook her head, blushing slightly. "I´m sorry.", she muttered. "The little one almost made me forget everything else. I have a letter for you. A boy just brought it." This wasn´t extraordinary. Many letters were delivered personally at all times of day. Maybe Meg wanted to invite me for a cup of tea. "Could you take him, so that I can open the letter?", I asked.

Moments later Philippe was dozing in Jacqueline´s arms and I held a white envelope in my hand. Dreadful foreboding seized me as I saw that there was no address on it. I pulled out the letter, and my heart nearly stopped beating when I stared at the one sentence written on it. Written in red ink. _His middle name will be Charles._


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter four 

**August 7th 1887: **_Meg_

It was Antoinette who opened the door when I came to visit Christine in the afternoon. "Bonjour, Mademoiselle.", she greeted me with a polite curtsey. I couldn´t help chuckling softly about the very serious expression on her face. "Why are you that formal?", I wanted to know. "Don´t you recognise me?" "Of course I do.", she assured me hastily. "But Jacqueline taught me to curtsey every time I open the door for a visitor. Otherwise I should better leave it to the servants." My smile grew wider; the little thing was much too curious not to check who was coming.

"I hereby allow you to make an exception with me.", I told her solemnly as I entered the house. "After all, I´ve known you for all your life." My permission made the girl relax visibly. "Do you like my dress?", she asked, gesturing proudly at the short pale blue dress she was wearing. "Yes, I like it very much.", I replied. It was indeed pretty; it went well with her long dark curls. Sometimes I found it almost eerie how much she looked like her mother. I could only hope that their next child would inherit a little more of Raoul´s features.

Suddenly Antoinette began to whirl around wildly in the corridor. I watched her in amusement. She was such a lively girl, always jumping or running. When she stopped, a bit out of breath and holding onto the banister of the stairs leading to the first floor, she called: "Do you know what those were? Pirouettes! I´ve been practicing them for days, so that I could show you.". "They were very good.", I said, walking over to her and giving her a reassuring pat on the back.

Looking up at me with her large brown eyes she whispered: "One day I´ll become a dancer, just like you. But Maman mustn´t know it. She´d never allow it. I can´t even talk about dancing without her scolding me. Once I found an article from a newspaper. I knew it was about her because I can already read her first name. But she didn´t tell me what it was about. She took it from me and hid it in her dressing table.".

Obviously exhausted from her long speech she leaned against me, and I put an arm around her shoulders. "Why doesn´t Maman like the opera?", the girl muttered. "I´ve once heard the cook say that singers and dancers are bad people. But that can´t be true because you are a dancer and Aunt Antoinette used to be one as well, and you´re not bad at all…" I didn´t know what to say against this four-year old child´s logic.

Stroking Antoinette´s hair I promised: "I´ll talk to your mother. Maybe she´ll let me take you to the opera, so that you can watch a rehearsal.". She lifted her head and threw me a hopeful glance. "And if she doesn´t agree, I´ll just sneak out of the house.", she suggested. "Maman won´t notice it. She´s busy with the baby all the time anyway."

I couldn´t believe my ears. "The baby is already _born_?", I asked. "Why didn´t you tell me earlier?" She gave a small sigh. "I didn´t want you to run away.", she explained. "Everyone is running to the baby and no one stays here with me. That´s so boring." "I can understand you.", I told her. "Still I have to go and have a look at it. But I´ll also talk to Christine about the opera. Do you want to accompany me?" Antoinette shook her head. "I´ve already seen it. I´ll play in the garden." Then she left, and I made my way upstairs.

It wasn´t hard to find out where I had to search for them. I heard a soft singing come from Christine´s and Raoul´s bedroom. Although I didn´t recognise the song, I knew it was part of one of the Italian operas my best friend had once loved so much. Hearing her sing made my heart contract. Even without training Christine still sounded wonderful, and it was a pity that she flatly refused to enter a stage again.

When I reached the slightly open door I was seriously tempted to stay there for a moment or two and keep listening. Yet my wish to see the baby was stronger. So I entered the room, a cheerful "That´s quite an unusual lullaby." on my lips. Christine´s mouth shut at once, and her face turned scarlet. It was as if I had caught her doing something forbidden. I threw her a brief glance and knew we wouldn´t talk about it. There were so many things we didn´t talk about these days.

"Hello Meg.", she said with a much too friendly smile. Now she seemed to pretend that nothing had happened. "Have you come to meet our little Philippe?" I nodded, and she pointed at a beautiful light brown cradle. "He has fallen asleep just a minute ago.", she informed me as I leaned over the cradle to peer inside. "Oh…", I made. He was so cute that I hardly found another word to describe him. The rosy skin, the blond hair, the tiny body – he looked like a precious porcelain doll.

"Congratulations!", I whispered, cautious not to wake up the child. Christine made a gesture towards the table and the two chairs in the other corner of the room. As we took our seats I continued: "You have such a beautiful son. I´m almost a little jealous.". "Well, you remember how it is done, don´t you?", she said teasingly. When she smiled like this she suddenly resembled a young girl again. It were rare moments that passed quickly. "I´m sure you have many suitors at the… everywhere." At once the expression on her face grew serious again. She even avoided uttering the word ´opera´.

I tried to pretend I hadn´t noticed anything. Over the years we had both become quite good at hiding our feelings. "There are certain men who are interested in me.", I admitted. "But none of them has ever talked about marriage. You know what most men think of girls who work at the _opera_." Maybe it was childish to do so, yet sometimes I simply had to use the word, so that Christine didn´t forget what it sounded like.

"How are things going there?", she asked so casually that I looked at her in alarm. Even her daughter knew that she usually avoided this topic. "Oh… well… everything´s normal.", I replied, blushing slightly. I hated lying. But I had promised Raoul on the day of their wedding that I´d never tell her of any incidents that could be related to the Phantom. Actually there wouldn´t have been much to tell anyway. The Ghost kept remarkably quiet as long as the managers paid. Of course he dismissed singers and suggested new ones, but apart from that nothing extraordinary happened. Still I had secretly felt much better when Christine had stopped asking about the opera.

Now she threw me a suspicious glance. "Are you tell me the truth, Meg?", she whispered, almost as if she feared we could be overheard. What had given away my lies? Had it been the expression on my face or was I simply tired of lying and hadn´t bothered to do it properly? "Is that really true?", she repeated urgently, seizing my hand and squeezing it tightly.

**Author´s note: **I know there´s not much Erik yet, but that´ll change soon. Two or three more chapters are yet to come, then we´ll skip till Philippe´s fifth birthday.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

**August 7th 1887:** _Christine_

I stared at Meg for what seemed like hours. Her face was flushed, and she tried to wind out of my grasp, but I didn´t let her escape. I had never suspected her of lying to me, yet now that I had asked the question nagging doubts had captured my mind. Getting rid of them was impossible.

"Christine…", she finally muttered. "It´s not that easy. I´m not allowed to tell you. I promised…" Squeezing her hand with so much force that she gave a little yelp of pain I pleaded: "Just answer this one question: Is he still there?". I couldn´t bring myself to utter Erik´s name. It seemed like a stupid thing to do, like a way of calling out to him. I gasped in shock as I remembered that I had used his name this very morning. What if Erik had somehow heard my whisper and thought I wanted him at my side? What if he would come here right now?

Suddenly I felt two hands seize my shoulders and shake me. "What´s the matter with you?", Meg cried anxiously. "Hmmmm…?", I made. Why was everything so dark? I realised that my eyes were closed, yet I couldn´t recall having done so. Opening them I saw that my friend´s cheeks, which had been so rosy before, were white as chalk. "You started trembling all of a sudden, and you were muttering under your breath.", she replied hastily.

I noticed a liquid trickle down my face. Reaching up I felt that my forehead was damp with sweat. "It´s not important.", I said not very convincingly. "I just… remembered something that made me a little upset… Could you fetch that cloth from the bedside table, please?" I felt very faint, and passing out on the way to the bed wouldn´t underline my statement that I was fine. Meg nodded and came back with the cloth a moment later. Cautiously she used it to wipe my forehead.

"I´m sorry.", she whispered, as if she feared a loud word could make my state even worse. Putting it on the table between us and settling down again she went on: "You´re still weak from the birth, and I simply came here and surprised you with my visit. That wasn´t very thoughtful of me. But I didn´t know it just happened yesterday.". I couldn´t help noticing the slight accusing undertone that had crept into her voice. Now it was my turn to apologise. "I wanted to send you a message, but I fell asleep afterwards, and when I woke up, it was already night.", I explained with a smile.

Meg shrugged. "It doesn´t matter anymore.", she told me. "I´m much more worried about you. What terrible thought made you shake like a leaf? For a second I was afraid you might faint, right there in your chair." She looked at me questioningly, but I shook my head. Erik had never explicitly forbidden me to talk about the promise. Yet some things simply went without saying. If my friend knew about that big mistake, she´d surely inform her mother and they´d try to do something against it. And when Erik was in one of his moods they could easily meet the same fate as little Philippe´s namesake. "I can´t tell you. It would mean putting your life at risk. But you have to tell me… please!" I threw her a pleading glance.

She only managed to resist me for a few moments before giving in. "All right.", she said with a long sigh. "Yes, the Opera Ghost is still there, doing the same things he has always done. There was maybe a month´s silence after… that night, then the managers got a new letter. And since that day they give him everything he asks for: his salary, Box Five… everything." I felt as if my heart had been stabbed with a sharp knife. "N-no…", I stammered. "You´re only making it up, don´t you? It´s just like those stories you used to tell me when we were younger… He can´t still be there. I… I checked the newspaper every morning, and there was not a single article about him."

Meg placed her warm dry hand on top of my sweaty shaking one, explaining: "That´s because nothing extraordinary happened. I´m not sure, but according to a rumour I´ve heard the managers pay money to the newspaper as well to keep everyone quiet.". "And who paid you to keep quiet?" The words were out before I could hold them back. I could have sworn that she hesitated for a second before replying: "Nobody. I just didn´t want you to be upset. You were so happy with Raoul, and when you were with child it wouldn´t have been right either. There just wasn´t the right moment. But you were bound to find it out sooner or later.".

I nodded automatically. So he was indeed alive. Once Erik had told me that certain angels would die if their student left them. Apparently this had been a lie as well. He had not died. But what was I thinking? He wasn´t an angel, just a human being like myself. Or had he by renouncing humankind also renounced being mortal? It was a bizarre situation: A part of my mind longed for the time when Erik had known the answers to all my questions and the solutions to all my problems. And the other part kept reminding me that Erik _was_ my problem.

In addition to my aching heart I could feel a pounding headache now. "Would you mind leaving?", I whispered. "Maybe you were right and it was too early to visit me…" "I´m your best friend, Christine.", she said softly, giving my hand a final pat. "If there´s anything you want to talk about… anything at all…" "No.", I mumbled. "Please go…" Without another word of protest she complied. "Goodbye!", she called as she reached the door. "Goodbye!", I gave back. "And don´t worry about me." I heard a strange sound, like a bitter laugh, then she was gone. The snapping shut of the door echoed in my head like a thunderclap.

At once I stood up and hurried to the cradle. I took out my peacefully sleeping baby and pressed it against my chest. A wave of fierce protectiveness washed over me. This was my child, mine and Raoul´s. Erik was alive. So what? He´d never get Philippe. I´d fight for him till my last breath.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

**August 10th 1887: **_Christine_

"You don´t have to do this yourself, Christine.", Raoul told me softly, leaning closer to me on the sofa to wrap an arm around my shoulders. "You´re still a little weak from having given birth so recently, and there are five women applying for the job as our new maid. It could take all morning to choose the most appropriate one. Shouldn´t I simply send a message to Mme.Giry, asking her to have a look at them while you catch up on some sleep? You can´t have had more than two hours last night…"

The last argument was the only one I had to agree with. Apart from the not very surprising fact that Philippe woke me up several times a night I had dreadful nightmares, in which I had to defend my child from all kinds of evil. My mind had created scene after horrible scene, probably in preparation for what was to come. It was true, I wasn´t in the best state possible for finding a good maid.

Still I insisted on doing it. Since that dream I had had the day before yesterday, in which the maid had stolen the baby and brought it to Erik, I had grown very sensitive towards this topic. Although I knew such an obvious attack wasn´t very likely, I couldn´t help being wary. Erik could at least try to get someone he secretly paid into my household to pass on information. And I didn´t want him to know how Philippe looked or where he slept, let alone our whole daily routine. If it hadn´t been for my husband, there wouldn´t even have been a birth announcement in the newspaper.

Poor Raoul! It hadn´t been easy to explain why the baby´s middle name had to be Charles. When we had talked about the subject on the evening after Philippe´s birth he had admitted that he´d have liked the child to have his own name as middle name, just like our daughter, who was called Antoinette Christine. Yet my explanation that Charles had been a very good friend of my father had finally persuaded him.

Personally I´d rather not know who Charles was. If it had been one of Erik´s companions, there was probably blood sticking to the name. But then, I could count myself lucky that the note hadn´t said ´His middle name will be Erik.´. Even with the help of a hundred friends of my father Raoul would have never accepted that name.

Looking at my husband, who still seemed to struggle with himself whether to inform Antoinette Giry, I wondered why I had given in to Erik at all. I sighed soundlessly. The honest answer was that I had been frightened. Hopefully I´d be able to fight Erik in five years´ time, but at the moment I was simply too weak. So I had made this one concession. After all, the middle name wasn´t that important.

"I will do it, and you can´t hold be back.", I told him flatly, throwing him a glance of utmost determination. Raoul ran a hand through his hair, which was a sign that he was about to give in. My features relaxed, and I smiled. "Oh… all right.", he eventually said. "But promise me that you´ll make breaks between the single applicants." I nodded, my smile widening. "Thank you, love.", I whispered.

He still seemed to have some doubts. "If only I could stay here, too!", he exclaimed. "But M.Maron insists on my presence at the meeting." "It´s fine, Raoul.", I muttered reassuringly. "Don´t forget that I also chose Jacqueline, and she´s the best maid we could have found for Antoinette." In this moment Jacques entered the living room. "The coach is ready, M. le Comte.", he announced, ignoring me as usual. The elderly servant had never understood how a member of aristocracy could marry a singer. The concept of love was completely strange to him.

I had to admit that I quite enjoyed making him even more indignant every now and then. Now was such a moment. Instead of the usual farewell I pulled the surprised-looking Raoul closer for a searing kiss. When it ended I whispered: "Don´t come home too late tonight!". "I´ll see what I can do.", he gave back, his cheeks as rosy as a little boy´s. Jacques cleared his throat. "The coach, Monsieur.", he repeated, throwing me a very discreet glance which still clearly expressed that he thought me to be the root of all evil. After another embrace Raoul and I finally managed to say goodbye in a ´decent´ way and he left. Almost at the same second Jacqueline told me that the first applicant was here.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Two hours and three women later I still hadn´t found the right maid. The first one had been a very nice, but also very shy girl, barely older than sixteen. She had shown an honest interest in Philippe, yet she hadn´t even dared take him out of the cradle. As my questions had grown more direct she had eventually admitted that she hadn´t had any experience with children. Although I had liked the girl, I hadn´t wanted to entrust her with my baby.

The second applicant had been a loud, bossy woman, who had spent more than fifteen minutes telling me what was wrong about my child´s clothing and my way of holding him. Then I had simply sent her away, saying I had decided for someone else. At first I had been quite fond of the idea of having an elderly maid, a gentle woman like Antoinette Giry. Yet this woman had been nothing like her.

The third woman had liked talking very much as well. After a tedious enumeration of all the diseases she had ever suffered from and the conditions under which she couldn´t come to work I had asked myself why she wanted this job. After all, children were well-known for being ill every now and then. The only positive aspect was that none of the applicants seemed to have been sent by Erik. Otherwise they´d have put more effort into getting the job.

Everything was all right with number four, at least at first sight. "And what do your parents do?", I was just asking the woman, who was about my own age. Checking the background was very important for me. She gave me a tentative smile. "My father works in the stables of M. de Fourret.", she replied. "And my mother is a seamstress at the Opéra Populaire." The teacup in my hand began to shake slightly as I desperately tried to maintain my composure. So this was her. Surely Erik had offered the woman a pay rise if her daughter kept him informed about my household. "This should be enough.", I said, considerably more coldly than before. "You´ll receive a letter with my decision within the next days."

The woman left, shaking her head incredulously, in the same moment the last applicant entered the room. By now I had filled my cup again and offered her some tea as well. Glad that I had managed to find the potential intruder I took my time looking at her while she drank. According to the letter she had sent me Marielle Palaux was eighteen years old, but with the white blouse and the grey skirt she looked older than I was. Her hair was black, and the eyes seemed to be almost as dark. She was quite pretty, and I couldn´t help wondering whether having such a girl in the house wouldn´t be a danger.

Yet when we started talking my worries soon vanished. Marielle was happily engaged. She also was an orphan, who had taken care of her brothers and sisters ever since she had been little. Moreover, I liked the way she treated Philippe, with a lot of affection and consideration. Half an hour later, as we had agreed on all the details, I had found our new maid. Shaking her hand I smiled brightly. I had made the right choice.

_Marielle_

Dear Aunt Carine!

At last I´ve managed to get a job. I´ll work as a maid for the Countess de Chagny. Her son Philippe is the cutest little thing I´ve ever seen. I can still hardly believe that I´ll be allowed to take care of him.

The Countess is a very friendly woman. It´s a pity I had to lie to her. But what else should I have done? She´d have never employed me if she had known about my connection to _him_. I can´t even blame her. If she had any idea…

Anyway, at least I´ll earn a lot of money like that. I hope I´ll be able to save enough to visit you soon. After all, you´re all I have left.

Yours, Marielle


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

**August 6th 1892: **_Christine_

…nine…ten…eleven…twelve. I was lying in bed, listening to the grandfather clock giving twelve melodic strikes. It was midnight. The day that would bring the decision had begun. There was no way in which I´d be able to fall asleep again. Erik had always been a person of the night, so why shouldn´t he try to come and get my child right now? Involuntarily my gaze was drawn to the window. Hadn´t I just heard a sound? What had it been, the rustling of leaves in a gentle breeze or the swishing of a cloak?

Driven by a sudden restlessness I sat up. I couldn´t stay put and let my little boy be devoured by the creatures of darkness. It was my duty as a mother to be at his side, to protect him. Pushing aside my blanket with more power than necessary and coming into a sitting position at the edge of the bed I groped for my dressing gown. It was a beautiful piece of clothing, made of white silk. Raoul had given it to me on my last birthday.

"Oh Raoul…", I breathed miserably. My other hand made its way to the empty place next to the spot where my head had rested before. How I wished my husband was here now! He had even tried to cancel his business trip to Oslo because he wanted to be at home on his son´s birthday. Yet it had been impossible.

He had left yesterday in the early afternoon. I did not often lose my composure these days for I had learned how to behave as a countess, but it the moment of his departure I hadn´t been able to hold myself back. "Don´t go, Raoul!", I had cried, clinging to his arm like a little child. "Don´t leave me alone!" He had only looked at me in mild surprise. "You are not alone.", he had pointed out at me gently. "Jacqueline and Marielle are here, and if something extraordinary happens, you can always ask Meg or Mme.Giry for help."

Would the disappearance of Philippe be extraordinary enough to justify sending a message to Norway even? The question had been on the tip of my tongue, but I hadn´t uttered it. Instead, I had tried to pull myself together and act like the woman of twenty-eight years that I was . I had got over such a long time of keeping my promise locked away in the far corner of my heart, so it would have been foolish to put everything at stake at the last minute. Telling Raoul about it would have been even more stupid than telling Meg. My best friend was a sensible person, whereas my husband lost every bit of reason when it came to Erik. I could understand this attitude perfectly, but I also knew that Raoul would probably grab a pistol or something similar and storm into the lair, only to be killed before he could say a word.

With this knowledge in the back of my mind I had let go of his arm, kissed his cheek and told him not to worry about me. He had left, looking very relieved and just a little puzzled about that mysterious creature called woman and its mood swings. And I had congratulated myself for not bursting into tears until ten minutes after his departure.

Deciding not to dwell upon the past anymore I came to my feet quickly and put on the dressing gown. Actually it was too warm to wear it. But I couldn´t walk all the way to my son´s room in my nightdress only. What if one of the servants saw me? Besides, I liked wearing something Raoul had picked for me. It made me feel closer to him.

As I opened the door I was glad that the hinges were always well-oiled for it happened almost soundlessly. Tiptoeing down the corridor I had to remind myself that my husband was the owner of this house. I could walk around in it at all times of day and make as much noise as I pleased. Still I hurried past the few doors as quietly as possible, afraid I could wake someone up. Anyone seeing me would have probably thought me to be a ghost.

Fortunately Philippe´s room wasn´t far away. I sneaked inside as soundlessly as a mouse and was met with the soft sounds of a slumbering child. I could be grateful that Marielle no longer slept here. There was still a door through which one could enter her room without having to go to the corridor first, but it was rarely used. I walked past it and sat down on the edge of my son´s bed.

The moonlight illuminated his face. Seeing him was like taking a journey back in time for me, back to my childhood. The blond hair that covered parts of his pace in an unruly mass, the blue eyes, which of course were closed now – he looked just like the little boy who had once fetched my scarf from the sea. Even Jacques had become slightly friendlier to me because I had given birth to the spitting image of his master.

As I brushed a few strands of hair away from his forehead he suddenly opened his eyes. "Maman?", he mumbled, still half asleep. "Yes, it´s me.", I whispered. "I… I´ve just come here to fetch you a lighter blanket. It´s an unusually warm night." At least that wasn´t a lie. I had felt how sweaty his face was and decided that I could as well do what I had said. So I stood up and went to the large wardrobe next to the window. It was not only a warm, but also quite a bright night, so that I didn´t have to light a candle to find the right blanket.

Coming back I noticed that Philippe seemed to be much more awake than before. "Is today my birthday?", he asked as I changed the blankets and folded the old one neatly. "That´s true.", I replied, placing it at the foot of his bed. "But…", I went on quickly before the boy could get his hopes up. "You cannot have your presents yet. It´s much too early. You still have to sleep for a few hours."

"Well… all right. But can you stay with me?", he whispered, his eyes wide. I nodded and went to the door to lock it. Just in case… As I came back and leaned down to tuck the blanket around him tightly, more because of motherly affection than because it was necessary, he admitted: "I don´t like the dark. It makes me frightened.". With these words he placed a sleepy kiss on the corner of my mouth, pressed my hand against his warm cheek and closed his eyes. He didn´t hear me murmur: "Me too, Philippe. Me too.". Cautiously I took my seat at the edge of his bed. I had been determined to stay awake, but listening to my son´s even breathing I felt my eyelids droop, and mere moments later I was dozing.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

I woke up hours later because the moon had given way to the sun, which was blinding me mercilessly. My back was aching, and my arms were very heavy. I realised that the upper part of my body had landed on Philippe´s bed. Straightening up I accidentally threw something light that must have been on top of me to the floor. Without thinking I picked it up. It was a sheet of paper. My heart was gripped by an iron claw as I read: _Bring me my boy after sunset._ Suddenly I felt very dizzy. The room started spinning around me. Then everything went black.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Author´s note: **Thanks for all the nice reviews! You can be sure I appreciate them. I´m glad you like this story so far and my way of writing it.

**Chapter Eight**

**August 6th 1892: **_Christine_

The first thing I heard when I came round was a woman screaming on top of her lungs. I wanted to cover my ears to escape from this sound that made my blood freeze, but as I reached up I found my mouth standing wide open and realised I was the woman screaming. Yet as much as I tried to stop, it was impossible. All my anger, all my fear, all my worries seemed to have found a new way of coming out: not with the help of tears, but by yelling.

As I paused momentarily to take breath I suddenly noticed something else. It was a tiny hand tugging at my sleeve. Looking down I saw my son staring at me wide-eyed. "Why are you screaming like that, Maman?", he asked in a small voice. "Are you hurt? Or did you have a nightmare?" He had sat up, and I could almost see his heart beating wildly beneath the pale blue nightshirt. I cursed myself for having scared my child.

Brushing over his dishevelled hair I told him: "Yes, I had… a nightmare, one might say. But you don´t have to be worried.". Briefly I wondered how many people I had told not to worry about me over the years: Raoul, Meg, Antoinette Giry, even Jacqueline. Now it was Philippe´s turn. I could only hope I had done a good job in convincing him. At least he didn´t look frightened anymore.

A small warm hand sneaked into mine as he said firmly: "Nightmares can´t harm you, Maman. They´re not real, you know.". His attempt to comfort me was truly touching. I tried to recall how often I had sat at his bed at night, consoling him with the same words. He accepted Marielle most of the time, but when he was afraid there was nothing like his mother. It was a pity that the sheet of paper in my other hand wouldn´t vanish if we pretended it didn´t exist.

We sat like that for a few moments, holding onto each other. Then the door was flung open and a mass of black hair appeared, quickly followed by the rest of Marielle. "What has happened? Is something wrong with Philippe?", she wanted to know, hastily tying up her dressing gown. I could only suspect that her habit of sleeping in ridiculously few clothes had kept her from being here sooner.

"No, everything is all right.", I replied shortly. "But it´s good that you´re here. I´d like to have a word with you anyway." Giving my son a loving smile I said: "Philippe, could you do me a favour? Go to Antoinette and Jacqueline and wake them up. Then you can look what the cook has made for breakfast. I´m sure it´s something delicious on this special day.". "And after breakfast I´ll get my presents?", he asked eagerly. I nodded. "Happy birthday, my dear.", I whispered, pressing my lips to his forehead till he withdrew from me, making a face. He slipped out of bed and left the room at a run, using the door to Marielle´s room.

My gaze followed him, then I focused on the maid. "Did you see anyone walking through your room and into this one last night?", I inquired. Marielle looked slightly puzzled. "No, of course not.", she answered. "Why? Do you think the little boy is wandering around in his sleep? Is this why you stayed here at night?" "I´m the only one with the right to ask questions.", I said sharply, feeling how the composure left me and was replaced by anger. It was none of her business why I was here at night. I was Philippe´s mother, for Heaven´s sake!

I grew even more furious as I took in the first part of her reply. "Then it was you who placed this note here.", I stated, brandishing it in front of her face. I saw her trying to catch a glimpse of what was written on the sheet of paper and snatched it away quickly. "No, no! You weren´t interested in the message when he made you put it on my sleeping body, so you don´t have to read it now.", I called angrily. "Tell me, how long have you kept him informed about what´s going on in this house?"

"I… I have nothing to do with a note.", she defended herself, but the guilty expression on her face showed clearly that she knew very well what I was talking about. "If you continue lying to me, I´ll alert the police at once!", I told her. It was an empty threat. After all, I couldn´t prove her connection to Erik, and it was doubtful whether the police would be interested in the Opera Ghost so many years after the last time they had heard about him.

Yet it seemed sufficient to loosen Marielle´s tongue at last. "All right, all right, I have told him a few things every now and then. But that was all; nothing happened. What was so terrible about doing it?" I couldn´t believe my ears. It had been a long time since I had last heard such insolence. "You´re putting my son´s, my husband´s and probably my own life at risk and ask what was terrible about it?", I yelled.

I felt as if my insides were on fire. My fingers crumpled the note into a ball and threw it to the floor. I barely heard her say: "He never planned to harm anyone, I swear it.". I had had enough. "Get out of here!", I shouted, my voice breaking. "And never come back!" I probably looked quite terrifying in my rage for she went out of the room and into her own without another attempt to justify herself. It was better like that; in my current state I could guarantee for nothing.

Shaking from head to toe I made my way to the other door. My fingers were trembling so badly that I could hardly turn the key. When I stood in the corridor at last I called: "Jacqueline! I need you here at once!". Just a minute later she hurried up the stairs. As soon as I spotted her I said, as calmly as possible under the given circumstances: "I´ve just dismissed Marielle. Make sure she´ll leave the house quickly and don´t let her see the children again! I have to go and meet my friend Meg.". I simply had to talk to someone. I was desperate to find help.

Jacqueline threw me a astonished glance. I could almost see her internal struggle which question to ask first. Finally she decided for: "And what about Philippe´s birthday?". "Well… try to extend the breakfast till I´m back. It won´t take long.", I replied after a moment. Then I called: "Jacques, tell the coachman to prepare the coach. I want to leave at once.". "But Madame…", Jacqueline said in the same soft voice she often used with Antoinette. "… you can´t go out like this. You´re still in your night clothes."

"Oh…", I muttered. "Right. Then I´ll dress first." I turned around and walked to my room. On the way there I passed a mirror hanging on the wall. Looking into it I realised that I indeed more resembled a beggar living in the street than a countess. My hair was dishevelled, and my eyes had an unnatural, almost insane sparkle. "This is what you do to me, Erik.", I mumbled.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

**August 6th 1892: **_Christine_

"Another half a mile, Madame!", the coachman called. Having my question answered I leaned back again in my seat, watching the trees move past the coach to the right and left. Usually I enjoyed the way to Meg´s home, but today it was only long, much too long for my impatient mind. Now that I had decided to let my best friend in on my secret, I couldn´t wait to get over with it before I became too scared and changed my mind a second time.

I reminded myself that I simply had to tell someone the whole story and ask for advice, then my situation would become much better. Otherwise I´d probably go insane. Already I was feeling as if my promise stuck in my throat, making it hard to breathe. If I didn´t get it out soon, I´d suffocate. At last I had realised that I needed help, and I needed it fast. Although it was summer, the sun would go down sooner or later, of course, and by ten in the evening it would be dark.

"We´re there, Madame.", the coachman´s voice interrupted my pondering. "We´ve reached the Tavoire estate." Not for the first time I thought it one of the luckiest twists of fate that Meg, who had been sure no man of wealth and honour would look at her twice because of her profession´s bad reputation, had married a man like Jean. He was kind, generous and loved her as much as on the first day they had met, after a performance about four years ago. Although I didn´t know him too well, I always enjoyed his presence and was looking forward to meeting him, if only briefly. Of course I wanted to discuss my private matters with Meg alone.

Since a servant had already gone into the house to tell everyone about my arrival, I left the coach quickly, expecting to see Meg waiting for me at the door by the time I´d had walked up the stairs. Yet the only person I could see there was the housekeeper. "Bonjour, Mme. de Chagny.", she greeted me, curtseying. "It is a pleasure to welcome you as our guest. But I have to tell you that neither M. nor Mme.Tavoire are at home presently. He has gone into town to make a few visits, and she has left early in the morning to travel south. She´ll meet half a dozen girls who are applying as members of the opera´s chorus."

"Do you know when she´ll be back?", I asked urgently. Maybe she´d return in the afternoon, and I´d be able to come back then. Yet the housekeeper´s reply destroyed that hope. "Not until tomorrow, I´m afraid.", she informed me. "She´ll spend the night in a hotel in Nice." I could hardly keep myself from uttering a few swearwords. But as I didn´t want to make the elderly woman embarrassed, I kept my mouth shut. I must have grown a little pale, though, for she offered: "Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea before you make you way back? I daresay you don´t look too healthy.".

I merely shook my head. "Thank you.", I muttered. "But I don´t think I have enough time for drinking tea." At the same moment I realised that it was a weak excuse for someone who had just come all the way here for a visit, yet I couldn´t think of a better one. Ever since I had found the note this morning, my mind didn´t seem to be working properly. How else could it be explained that I had left my son on his birthday to go to a friend instead of simply sending her a message, asking her to come to us?

My whole body seemed to be in a very strange condition. I felt as if it was filled with water that was almost boiling, pushing my secret more and more to the top. If I couldn´t talk to someone trustworthy soon, I´d probably just spill it out for everybody to hear. Mme.Giry! The thought came to my mind quite suddenly. Yes, that was the right person. She´d surely find a solution. Giving the housekeeper a slight smile I said: "When Meg comes back tomorrow, could you tell her that I´ve spoken to her mother about something very important? She can fill her daughter in on the details.". Though I wanted Meg to know about it as well, I doubted I´d be able to re-tell the whole story for her. Once would be hard enough.

The woman looked at me in amazement and… Was it pity? "I´m afraid that won´t be possible. You see, Mme.Giry accompanies Mme.Tavoir. As far as I know the managers insisted on both their ballet mistress and their leading ballerina to meet the potential chorus girls. But I´m sure you´ll be able to talk to them tomorrow." "Thank you for the information.", I whispered. Tomorrow! I didn´t need help tomorrow – I needed it now! Turning around I shuffled back to the coach. I heard the housekeeper calling something, but I couldn´t muster the energy to do as much as cast a glance over my shoulder.

As I slumped onto the bench of the coach I asked myself why I wasn´t upset rather than sad. After all, my plan had just been shattered. Yet somehow it didn´t come as a surprise. On this day absolutely everything was going wrong. Maybe I simply had to accept the fact that no one would stand at my side in this battle. Still I could, and I would, fight.

The coachman arrived a few moments later, probably alerted by the housekeeper, and I told him to drive back home . He seemed to be a little astonished about this order after not more than five minutes of being here, but eventually he complied. As I didn´t want to look at the landscape again I opened today´s newspaper, which I had brought with me out of sheer habit.

In the first anxious minutes I skimmed page after page, yet the opera wasn´t mentioned a single time. With a contended sigh I leaned back and continued reading. After a little while I arrived at the announcements, and something caught my eye. I blinked in a irritated way, but it was still there: The largest announcement, right at the centre, had Philippe´s name in it! _We would like to express our congratulations to Philippe Charles de Changy, who celebrates his fifth birthday today. He is an extraordinary child and will once inherit a magnificent empire. Good wishes also to his parents, Christine Countess de Chagny (née Daaé) and Raoul Count de Chagny, who is unfortunately not staying in Paris at the moment._ A single sob escaped my lips. Did this man know everything about my family?


	10. Chapter Ten

**Author´s note: **This is an addition to the disclaimer. The fairy tale mentioned in this chapter was written by the Brothers Grimm. I don´t own it.

**Chapter Ten**

**August 6th 1892: **_Christine_

When the coach stopped in front of my home it was early afternoon. The coachman had needed more breaks than usual to water the horse for it had become very hot outside. The sun was burning down mercilessly as I made my way up the stairs to the entrance door, and even my handbag seemed to be as heavy as a stone. I had left the newspaper in the coach, so that it would be thrown away as soon as possible. If only I could have disposed of the memory of that horrible announcement as well!

Why had Erik – and there was no doubt that it had been him – done this? I made desperate attempts to push the question out of my mind as I entered the house and began to look for my children and Jacqueline, but it kept coming back. Theory after theory invaded my head. Was it merely meant to be a reminder of which day it was? A sign that he hadn´t forgotten it either? Did he want to threaten me with his knowledge or intimidate me by mentioning that Raoul wasn´t there to protect me?

I was so lost in thought that I only realised the living room was empty when I had stood in it, staring into space, for more than a minute. Looking out of one of the large windows I finally spotted the people I was searching for. They were in the garden, sitting on a woollen blanket under a parasol. In the same moment Jacqueline lifted her head, saw me and waved cheerfully. I nodded and pointed at the door, indicating that I´d join them soon.

Then I left the room and went out into the corridor. There, on the top shelf of the huge wardrobe, lay Philippe´s presents in a neat pile, carefully hidden from the glances of curious children. I needed a chair to reach them, but after just one or two minutes I could take them into the garden with me. I hoped the little boy would forgive me for being late when I gave them to him right now. There was only one thing too big for me to carry myself – a beautiful rocking horse - so I made a servant do it.

The heat was even more overwhelming after the coolness in the house, and the garish sunlight blinded me. Yet my children´s reactions made up for all the negative aspects of having come out here. When they noticed who was approaching them they both jumped up at once. "Maman!", they cried in almost perfect unison. The picture of them running to me as quickly as their small feet carried them made my heart leap. I loved them so much.

A moment later they were clinging to my skirts and talking to me, each of them trying to be louder than the other. "Jacqueline said you visited Meg. Why didn´t you bring her here? I´d have liked to talk to her about dancing…", Antoinette managed to get out before her brother gave her a nudge in the ribs and demanded my attention. "Are those my presents?", he asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Can I open them right now?"

"Of course they´re yours.", I replied with a slight laugh. "Or are there any other birthday boys here?" "No!", he exclaimed. "There´s just me!" Now he was actually jumping up and down in front of me and tugging at my skirts, so that I made my way to the blanket quickly, afraid the presents might end up on the grass if he accidentally pushed me. I spread them out, and Philippe made straight for them. This gave me a moment to catch my breath and greet Jacqueline, who had watched the entire scene with a warm smile.

Sitting down next to her I threw Antoinette a sideways glance and asked in a low voice: "Did everything go smoothly with Marielle?". Actually it wasn´t necessary to be this quiet; my daughter had only eyes for Philippe and his presents. Jacqueline nodded. "She kept claiming that she had done nothing wrong, but I didn´t listen. In the end I simply told her that she´d receive her wages for the complete month if she left without causing any more trouble. It worked very well. Was that… all right with you?" "Of course.", I muttered. What was a bit of money compared to my peace of mind?

In this moment we were interrupted by my son. "I can´t get this off.", he called angrily, staring in disgust at a large ribbon. I was about to stand up, but the maid was faster. "No, no, you´ve just settled down.", she said and made her way to Philippe to help him. Now Antoinette addressed me in an accusing voice: "You still haven´t told me why Meg isn´t here. I wanted to talk to her…". "…about dancing, I know.", I finished her sentence. "I would have asked her to come, but she wasn´t home. So you´ll have to talk to me." "You never let me talk about dancing.", she complained, making a face.

That was true. After several long discussions with Meg I had allowed her to teach my daughter twice a week. Yet those ballet lessons always took place in our home. I had even equipped an unused room with all the things they needed. It had been quite expensive, but I´d rather have built a room with my own hands than let Antoinette set a foot into the opera. And, unlike Meg, I couldn´t bring myself to telling funny stories about my career. There was nothing funny about what had happened to me.

To distract her from this delicate topic I offered: "I could do something else for you, though. I could… read to you from a book. Do you have one here?". She nodded eagerly. This had always been one of her favourite pastimes, although by now she could read herself, of course. She reached for a heavy volume next to her and heaved it onto her lap. "Oh, is this the book with the German fairy tales Aunt Antoinette gave you for your birthday?", I wanted to know. The last months had been quite busy, and I hadn´t had much time for reading.

"Yes. Jacqueline has already read all the stories to me.", the little girl replied, skimming the pages. At last her finger came to a halt. "This one is my favourite. It´s called ´Rumpelstiltskin´." She uttered the last word very slowly and carefully. I had to give a small chuckle about the peculiar title. "What is it about?", I asked. I had grown up with Swedish fairy tales, and Mamma Valérius had introduced me to those by Perrault, but I had missed the German ones entirely.

Antoinette´s face was screwed up in concentration for a moment as she seemed to think about how to start. Then she said: "It´s about a poor miller´s daughter whom the king locks up in a chamber to spin straw into gold because her father has boasted she could do that. But of course she can´t and she begins to cry for she´s afraid of being killed. Then a strange little man appears and offers to help her in exchange for her necklace. And he can indeed turn all the straw into gold. Can you imagine that?".

Smiling I shook my head and indicated her to go on. It occurred to me that we wouldn´t have anything left to read if she told me the whole story, but I didn´t want to interrupt her. So she continued: "Yet though the king gets all the gold, he still wants more, and the miller´s daughter has to give the little man her ring, so that he helps her again. But on the third time she doesn´t have anything left, and the man makes her promise to give him the first child she´ll have…".

Whether or not the girl had gone on after this, I couldn´t tell. My mind was unable to take in any more. Which cruel irony of fate had made Antoinette pick this particular story? I gasped for breath, but only a tiny amount of air came into my body. I felt as if someone was squeezing my throat. Was this my secret, ready to come out?

I couldn´t let that happen, not in front of my children. Muttering "I´m sorry. I can´t…" I came to my feet quickly and rushed to the house. "Maman! Come back! That wasn´t even the funny part!", my daughter called, but I didn´t stop until I was safely inside. Only then did I allow the tears to flow freely over my cheeks. I walked straight into my bedroom and let myself sink onto the bed. Burying my face deeper and deeper into the soft pillow I cried for what felt like hours. Utterly exhausted I finally fell asleep.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

**August 6th 1892: **_Christine_

"Maman…" Two small hands landed on my shoulder. "Maman, are you awake?" A minute ago the answer would have been ´no´, but thanks to my child´s gentle persistence that was no longer true. Turning my head slightly and opening my eyes I mumbled: "Yes, Philippe, I am.". It was only then that I noticed I was lying on my stomach, which was quite an unusual and not very comfortable position for me.

Groaning I straightened up, pushing damp strands of hair aside. My eyes were aching, and the skin surrounding them was sore and swollen. I wondered how long I had been crying. Hopefully my son wouldn´t see it. "What can I do for you?", I asked drowsily, turning around to look at him. His appearance was different from that in the afternoon, yet I couldn´t place my finger on why this was so. The answer didn´t come from him, but from Jacqueline, who, as I only realised now, was standing a few steps behind him. "He´d like to have his ´good night´ kiss.", she explained. "I tried to keep him from waking you up, but he insisted on seeing you before he goes to bed."

Bed? Blinking several times I suddenly understood the difference in his appearance: Philippe was already wearing his nightshirt. "How late is it?", I wanted to know, my eyes wide with shock. After a brief glance at the grandfather clock Jacqueline replied: "It´s half past nine. I know that´s a little too late for him to go to bed, but he was playing so nicely with his presents that I couldn´t bring myself to making him stop. After all, it´s his birthday.".

A look out of the window confirmed my suspicion. "It´s dark.", I breathed. "Of course it´s dark. It´s always dark at night.", my son informed me, giving his innocent little laugh. "That´s true.", I muttered absent-mindedly, stroking his hair. When she saw in which state I was Jacqueline approached us and took Philippe´s hand. "I´m very sorry about having woken you up, Madame.", she told me with an apologetic smile. "We´ll go now. Come on, little one, time for bed!" "No!", I said instantly, seizing his other hand. What if Erik would come later? No one but I could protect my child. I had to- I could never finish the thought for in this moment there was a knock at the door.

"Mme. de Chagny?", Jacques called. He was much too discreet, let alone bashful, to enter this bedroom. "Thee´s someone at the door. I´ve tried to get rid of him, but he insists on talking to you in person. Could you spare a moment of your precious time and come downstairs?" My pulse had sped up with every word, and now my heart was pounding in my chest like a hammer. Did Erik really have the audacity to simply walk through the door like an ordinary visitor and demand my boy?

My knees were weak as I stood up and tried to smooth out the dress I was still wearing. "I´ll be right there.", I replied, opening the door, only to see that Jacques had already left, doubtlessly busy with another important task. When I made my way down the stairs my thoughts revolved around a single question: What could I say to change his mind? "It´s a pity he doesn´t care about rings and necklaces; I´ve got them aplenty.", I mumbled bitterly, remembering the story Antoinette had told me this afternoon.

The closer I came to the entrance door the slower my steps grew. Maybe a part of me was hoping he might already be gone. But of course I hoped in vain. There was someone standing at the threshold, yet… I could hardly believe it: It was not Erik. A boy, perhaps one or two years older than my daughter, was looking at me curiously as I suppressed a sigh of relief.

"Are you Christine Countess de Chagny?", he asked. I nodded. "How can I help you?" I had quite a reputation for giving generous sums of money to the poor; surely the boy had heard my name in the street and wanted to beg as well. He was lucky; in my current mood I was willing to donate almost everything. But when he opened his mouth to reply it was no plea that came out. "You know I´m not used to waiting. If I don´t have the boy by midnight, your husband will pay for it. Norway can be quite a dangerous country, if you know what I mean…"

I stared blankly at the boy, who had spoken with the same indifferent voice I had often heard at the recital of poems. It was clear that he hadn´t thought of those sentences himself. So I wanted to know: "Who gave you that message? Was it a tall man dressed in black with a white mask covering half of his face?". I could barely keep myself from seizing the boy by the shoulders and shaking him to get the answer more quickly. But it didn´t take him long anyway. "No, a boy told it to me and made me learn it by heart. He said he had got it from a man." Scraping his feet impatiently he went on: "Can I go now? Or do you want to hear the message again?". "No, no.", I whispered. The boy turned on his heel and ran away, probably on the search for his next job.

It couldn´t go on like that. This thought was stronger than anything else in my mind as I watched the boy leave. What kind of life would I have if I had to be afraid of every person at the door, every letter, every article in a newspaper? And what kind of life would Philippe have? One day my constant protection would suffocate him. I didn´t want him to grow up like in a prison. There was just one logical consequence: I had to go to Erik.

Of course I had no intention to hand my child over to him. But I had to talk to him, to persuade him that the idea of raising Philippe was ridiculous. What could he want to do with him? With a determined snap I closed the door and went upstairs again. After a little detour to Raoul´s study I entered my bedroom. My son and Jacqueline were both sitting on the bed now, glancing at the expectantly.

"What would you say if we took a ride in the coach, my dear? Just the two of us…", I offered with a much too cheerful smile. As much as I hated the idea of Erik seeing my little one, I had to take him with me. What if he came while I was on my way to him and snatched the boy away from Jacqueline? I´d never forgive myself. Philippe´s eyes, which had had quite a sleepy expression before, lit up with joy. "Oh yes, Maman!", he called, coming to his feet quickly and seizing my outstretched hands. I picked him up to cradle him in my arms. "We just have to dress you properly first.", I explained. In a slightly louder voice I then asked: "Will you stay with Antoinette for the night, Jacqueline? I don´t know when we´ll be back and I don´t want her to wake up and find us gone.". "Of course, Madame.", she said. "But don´t you want to tell me where you´re going?" I merely shook my head and left the room with my son.

When he arrived in his room I dressed my boy in dark blue trousers and a white shirt and combed his beautiful blond hair. After all, he was Philippe de Chagny. I couldn´t let him run around like the child of a beggar, just because of the man we were about to visit. In vain I tried to persuade myself that this was the only reason why I also used the comb for my hair and tied it back with a dark blue ribbon before we put on light coats and went out of the house.

Jacqueline was a very thoughtful maid; she seemed to have called for Jacques the moment I had told her we´d go out. The coach was already waiting for us when we left the garden behind us. I lifted Philippe onto the bench before glancing at the very tired- and even more grumpy-looking coachman. "And where can I take you this late at night?", he asked, stifling a yawn with his hand. "The Opéra Populaire.", I replied, my voice shaking ever so slightly. "The Rue Scribe entrance."

The relief about the short distance was visible on in his face even in the semi-darkness. He nodded, and I entered the coach as well. A moment later the horse started walking, at a slow and uneven pace. Apparently it wasn´t too pleased about having been dragged away from its hay. When the coach abruptly jolted to the left my hand brushed against something hidden in the inside pocket of my coat. It was the reason why I had been in Raoul´s study: his pistol. I patted it with a strange little smile. Whatever Erik might have in store for me I was prepared.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Author´s note: **I´ve never received so many reviews for a single chapter. Thank you! You wouldn´t believe how quickly it made me type. And I really don´t like typing… What? You don´t care about all that and just want to find out what happens next? Oh, all right. Let´s go on then…

**Chapter Twelve**

**August 6th 1892: **_Christine_

My hands were shaking violently as I approached the side entrance of the building which would lead us into Erik´s world. In the end I had to grasp the wrist of my right arm with my left hand to hold it steady enough to push down the handle. The door swung open, which clearly showed me that he was indeed waiting for us. I took a deep breath and crossed the threshold, Philippe right behind me.

At first I felt like all people do when entering a unknown and fairly dark room; I was a little anxious and moved very carefully. I carried a lantern in one hand, while my son was clutching the other one. "Where are we?", he asked in a whisper. It was the first time someone spoke since I had told the coachman not to wait for our return, and consequently it sounded much too loud in the empty corridor we were just walking through.

"We´re in an opera house.", I replied in the same quiet voice. "Or rather, under it…" I wasn´t sure whether that was already true, but I could feel the corridor was leading slightly downwards. "I thought you didn´t like the opera. Antoinette told me so.", my little boy remarked. "What are we doing here then?" "Erm… well, you mustn´t know yet. You´ll find out later." This wasn´t a very witty answer, but I was running out of lies. I had already told too many of them.

Apparently it was sufficient for Philippe, though, for he didn´t ask more questions. Yet it wasn´t a nice atmosphere for having a conversation anyway. The darkness, the fact that every word we spoke echoed from the walls, combined with my sombre mood – I could understand how overwhelmingly intimidating all that had to be for a child. So I wasn´t surprised when he stopped a few minutes later and muttered: "I´m so tired, Maman. Could you carry me for a while?". I nodded readily and picked up his small body from the floor. It was safer like that for it spared him the danger of stepping onto the trigger of a trap.

Although it was far from easy to walk through the tunnels with my son and the lantern, I still thought it had been better to take him with me. Besides, having him in my arms was a comfortably warm feeling. Yet after a while my child seemed to grow heavier and heavier, and I noticed that he had fallen asleep. More than once I had to stop to catch my breath. I couldn´t help wondering whether the way had always been this endlessly long. Maybe I wasn´t following the right path. After all, it had been more than ten years since the last time I had been down here.

When the underground lake came into view I gave a brief sigh of relief. At least I hadn´t lost my way and needed Erik to rescue me. But on the other hand it would probably have been better if I had never arrived here. His home seemed so very near all of a sudden as I started walking around the lake. The gondola was nowhere to be seen at the shore – a sign that he hadn´t gone out – and I doubted I could have worked it anyway.

I felt like running away. Had I really once liked this place, its quietness and peace? Now it seemed to be full of greedy beasts trying to get Philippe. Involuntarily I pressed him against my chest more firmly. I´d protect him. I´d – "Good evening, Madame.", a voice coming from behind me suddenly addressed me. I nearly forgot to breathe as I turned around slowly. This time no mistake was possible. It was Erik.

Of course I should have been frightened, yet for some reason the first thought rushing through my mind was ´ Oh, that voice! That heavenly voice!´. Until this moment I hadn´t known how much I had missed it, singing or merely talking to me. The rich tenor voice filled my head, making me unable to respond in any way, even if I had had the faintest idea of what to say.

Erik clicked his tongue impatiently. "What´s the matter, Madame?", he asked with so much sarcasm that even a dog would have noticed it. "Don´t they teach the young countesses manners anymore or did the boy forbid his little wife to talk to strangers? You´re supposed to _say something_, for example…" Now something very strange happened: Even though neither he nor I moved our lips, I heard someone speak "Hello Erik! How nice to see you again! Here´s the boy, just like I promised. I´m sorry for being a bit late…"

"Oh, stop it!", I said sharply. He had used this ability on me before, and I had never liked it. It gave me the unpleasant feeling of being manipulated by him. "A miracle has happened: She can talk.", Erik stated so dryly that I was nearly overwhelmed by the urge to slap him in the face. Shaking slightly with barely controlled rage I told him: "To your information: I have no intention to leave Philippe in your care for as long as a second. I´d rather die.".

He looked at me intently, but he didn´t seem surprised or furious. "Please compose yourself! There in no need for such threats… yet. Why don´t you come to my home and we discuss everything there?", he suggested. Although the word ´trap´ appeared in big letters at the back of my head at once, it was an offer too tempting to resist. My arms felt as if they´d fall off any second, and my back was aching. I had never carried Philippe for such a long time; my whole body was screaming for a rest. Besides, I had come here to talk. So I nodded reluctantly.

Without another word he started walking towards his house, and I followed him. Fortunately it wasn´t far. Just about five minutes later we were there, and after another minute we stood in the living room. Nothing had changed, not the tiniest detail. I took a deep breath. It even smelled like it had had ten years ago. I gave a reminiscent little smile, but my wave of nostalgia was interrupted by Erik, who entered the room behind me, pointed at the sofa and sat down on the armchair next to it himself. Cautiously I placed the still sleeping Philippe on the surprisingly soft cushions before settling down as well.

"You´ve changed a lot, Christine Countess de Changy.", he said in a strange voice. He let his gaze roam over my body for a few moments, and I couldn´t help thinking that it lingered a little longer on my cleavage. Hastily I tugged at my coat to cover myself. An amused smile played around his lips as he noticed it. To distract him I muttered: "And you didn´t change at all.". It wasn´t a lie. Sure, there were a few wrinkles on the part of his face I could see, but apart from that he was the same Erik. His hands, usually a good indication for someone´s age, were gloved, and his hair had the same colour it had always had. This wasn´t astonishing, though. After all, he had already worn a wig ten years ago.

Not commenting on my remark Erik then looked over at my son. "He has a terrible resemblance to his father.", he hissed, shaking his head in disdain. "Maybe I should better take the next boy you produce. But no… watching you those few times was hard enough…" I stared at him in alarm. Did he really imply what I thought her did? "You watched Raoul and me… in the bedroom?", I asked faintly. He shrugged. "Of course I did. I had to make sure I´d get my heir before I´m as old as Methuselah. But believe me, I didn´t enjoy it any more than you did. Does your husband always make those… grunting noises?"

"How dare you talk about us like that!", I exclaimed, my face hot and flushed with embarrassment. Philippe stirred slightly, and I clapped a hand over my mouth. Fortunately he didn´t wake up. "Oh, have I touched a delicate topic?", Erik wanted to know with a pleasant smile. "Don´t worry – such things are supposed to become better after some… decades. Or so I´ve heard…" He watched me squirm under his gaze for some more seconds before he abruptly changed the subject. "If you don´t want to bring the child to me, why are you here?"

I cleared my throat, waiting for brilliant arguments to fill my head. None came. The whole thing with Raoul had confused me so much that I could hardly recall the reason for my visit. "I´m here because… well…", I stammered. Only slowly the words returned. "Philippe is my son, and I don´t want to give him to anyone. That promise was a terrible mistake. I was still so young back then; I wasn´t even sure I´d ever have children. Please, Erik…" I begged, now actually grabbing his hand. The leather of his glove was so icy-cold that I shuddered. He pulled it back at once. So I went on, growing more and more frantic: "You don´t need a child. You have this opera house and your music. A child… would only disturb you. Moreover, it would be frightened. Of the mask, I mean…". It was on the tip of my tongue to add that seeing him without mask would be even more frightening, but for my son´s sake I held myself back.

Erik had shown little reaction during my plea, yet the last part seemed to have reached him. "I´ve heard that boys of his age aren´t afraid of many things.", he told me. "But why don´t we simply give it a try? Wake up the child, and we shall see for ourselves." When I hesitated for a moment he growled: "Wake him up or I´ll do it!".

Sighing deeply I leaned down to him and called softly: "Philippe! It´s time to wake up…". His eyes snapped open. "Where…?", he mumbled. "We´re at a friend´s home.", I explained. He lives in the opera, you know. His name is Monsieur … Monsieur …" At this point I had no idea how to go on. I couldn´t possibly mention the name ´Erik´. If Philippe used it in Raoul´s presence, my husband would find out about everything.

Yet while I was still struggling with myself, inwardly cursing my former teacher for not having a last name, the inexplicable happened: My son´s gaze fell on Erik, and a bright smile spread across his face. "Uncle Erik!", he exclaimed merrily.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

**August 6th 1892: **_Erik_

It was strangely satisfying to watch the almost triumphant expression on Christine´s face turn into a grimace of astonishment. ´This, my dear, is why one should never be too sure of oneself.´, I thought. ´It usually leads to disappointment.´ Yet I didn´t have any more time to ponder on this important rule for her son was still glancing up at me with a smile, waiting for a response.

"Hello, little boy.", I gave back, returning the smile as well as I could. It happened so rarely that I smiled about something these days that I hardly remembered which muscles I had to use. "Is this where you live, the mysterious and exciting place you´ve told me about?", he asked, his blue eyes shining with curiosity. This feeling was very familiar to me, and I sensed that his fingers were itching to explore and play with the many objects I had purchased over the years and brought here. So I replied: "Yes, this is my home. Would you like to have a look around while your mother and I continue our conversation? We´re only discussing boring things anyway.".

Either Philippe was too young to know that topics adults called boring were the most interesting to eavesdrop on or his parents never spoke about topics worth listening to. Sitting up quickly he told me: "That would be great. Can I also go into the other rooms?". "Of course you can do that.", I answered. His feet were already touching the floor when he suddenly was kept back by his mother.

Christine had been silent and motionless since the revelation that her son and I had met before. But now she clung to his arm as if both of their lives depended on it. "You will not go anywhere!", she called. "This house is dangerous. You might simply vanish, and I´ll never see you again. " I couldn´t help chuckling softly about her hysterical behaviour. "There is no reason for becoming this melodramatic.", I assured her. "It´s not as if I´d send him to play in the torture chamber. The doors to it and to my own room are safely locked."

"Name one reason why I should trust you!", she cried. Gently I placed my hands on top of hers. It had the desired effect: Instantly she pulled them back, consequently letting go of Philippe. His slender wrist was a little redder than the other one, but no lasting damage had been done. "I like this boy.", I said simply. "I´d never harm or endanger him." When Christine kept glancing at me wordlessly I addressed the child again. "You may go now. But don´t try to force your way into the locked rooms! It wouldn´t work anyway." He nodded meekly and left the room. This time no one held him back.

Leaning back in my comfortable armchair I continued examining my former student. She had indeed changed. Marriage and motherhood had turned her into a woman. Yet deep down in her soul – in that mysterious organ most human beings possessed in larger or smaller versions – she still was a girl. The way she was looking at me with a certain stubbornness told me everything. "I only let him go because I didn´t want him to hear any more of what we´re speaking about.", she muttered.

"A wise decision.", I remarked, deliberately not mentioning the fact that actually I had made this decision. "And what are we going to speak about?" "Why does Philippe know you?", she blurted out. It was clear that she had held back the question till her son had left, probably in order not to frighten him. Unlike me, Christine wasn´t relaxed at all. She sat on the very edge of the sofa, he whole body tense. "I visited him, every year on his birthday and a few times in between.", I replied. "Since he unfortunately doesn´t have a godfather, I tried to take the role as well as I was capable of."

Christine´s flushed cheeks showed me that she was growing even angrier. It amused me that I could still read her like a book. "_Unfortunately?_", she repeated, her voice like acid. "Philippe would have been a wonderful godfather, if only you hadn´t killed him!" "He was a fool.", I gave back, my voice just as sharp as hers. "He knew it was dangerous to come here, and still he did it, all alone. At least his brother had had enough sense in him to take a guide. Yet I didn´t kill Philippe; Lake Averne did it. And you, Christine, should run out of the house and thank it on your knees for having done so. He´d have never accepted you as his sister-in-law. His death spared you a lot of trouble."

Now she even started chewing at her pretty bottom lip, just the way she had done it when she had forgotten the words of an aria – I´d have been certain she´d stopped that habit a long time ago. But apparently the fact that I was right made her nervous. "How did you manage to visit him without me noticing it?", she asked after a few moments. I accepted her change of subject without as much as commenting on it. "Of course that wouldn´t have been possible without help.", I told her frankly. "It was quite difficult to be there at the exact times when you were at the hairdresser´s or the seamstress´. But with the maid working for me it was possible to see him at least for an hour every now and then."

Was there a tiny bit of triumph returning to her face? "That method may have worked for a while, but it has come to an end on this very day!", she called. "Marielle won´t spy on us any longer – I just dismissed her this morning!" "Marielle?", I repeated with a questioning undertone. "Oh, that dark-haired girl? I haven´t spoken to her in my life." Today´s second revelation made Christine turn paler than the tablecloth. Although I was a little sorry for her, it was always nice to know something others didn´t.

"Wha… it´s… bu… not…" When she continued stammering fragments of sentences I asked: "Would you like a glass of water? Or something a little stronger to calm the nerves? Sherry, maybe?". Yet she didn´t seem to care about drinking now. Instead she finally uttered a combination of words I could understand without a dictionary. "It has to be Marielle. She… she confessed it! She said she had been passing information to you!" "Did she mention my name?", I wanted to know, frowning as I tried to make sense of Christine´s story. "Well… no.", she admitted. "But who else could she have talked about?"

Suddenly everything was clear… at least to me. "Marielle had indeed a little secret, yet I can assure you that it´s not me.", I told her, trying not to sound too triumphant myself now. "For some inexplicable reason she failed to mention that her father is in prison and her brother surrounds himself with criminals as well. It was he who received information about the valuables that can be found in your house. If I were you, I´d exchange the lock on the back door – he already has the key."

"And who works for you then?", Christine asked, apparently much more interested in the answer than in the fact that her house could be broken in to any moment. A smile was still visible on my face as I said: "Allow me to respond to this question with one of my own… Where does Jacqueline´s younger sister Clarille live?". "In an… orphanage.", she replied hesitantly. "Their parents died when she was little, and Jacqueline… wanted her to stay with us, but I refused… She must be about fourteen now." "That is true.", I remarked. "Unfortunately the first part isn´t. Three years ago she has moved into one of the rooms the opera provides for chorus girls. And guess who suggested her as a member of the corps de ballet and makes Mme.Giry look after her, who pays for her private lessons and everything else…" "You.", Christine breathed.

She shook her head again and again. "Jacqueline… I can´t believe it. She has been with us for almost ten years, I trusted her." "And you were right in doing so.", I told her gently. "She only helped me because she could have never paid for her sister´s education herself. And she´s such a talented dancer. Wouldn´t you have done the same in her place?" "I… don´t know.", she muttered, suddenly looking very young and helpless.

"Jacqueline is a nice girl.", I said. "I watched her many times with the children. She has a sensible way of dealing with them. Only a fool would dismiss her. If she hadn´t been my source of information, I´d have found someone else. I heard your cook likes talking very much… Anyway, you don´t have to be sorry for Marielle. You won´t need her once Philippe lives with me."

I had tried hard to approach the subject cautiously, and still it had clearly been too abrupt for my former student. It seemed that our conversation had made her nearly forget what was to happen tonight, but now that she remembered it she jumped up from her seat at once. "You´ll never get Philippe.", she hissed, rushing to the door. "I´ll throw Jacqueline out into the street tomorrow, then you won´t ever see him again!"

Reaching the door moments before her I pushed myself against it with all my weight quickly, keeping her from opening it. "You´ve spent far too much time with your dear husband.", I muttered, looking at her with a mixture of sadness and annoyance. "You of all people should know how fatal it can be to underestimate me. Do you think you decided anything for yourself in the last ten years, anything at all?"

Now we were so close to each other that I could smell her perfume. For a split-second it distracted me, but thinking of how often her husband had been much, much closer to her made me continue with even more fury. "You´d have never been able to buy the house you´re living in if I hadn´t forced the previous owner to leave. I knew you´d like the garden and the wooden floors, and the large windows were ideal for my purposes. I decided which servants would apply to the positions you had to fill. I even selected the pieces of fabric the seamstress showed you for you new dresses." Leaning down I whispered into her ear: "I never stopped being a part of your life, Christine.".

"Maybe it´s about time our ways part then.", she said. She looked up, and for a moment I was almost sure she´d kiss me. But instead of the soft and warm touch of her lips I felt an entirely different touch. Glancing down I saw that the cold metal of a pistol was pressed against my chest. My eyes widened in horror. "Christine… what…?"


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter fourteen**

**August 6th – August 7th 1892: **_Christine_

I had never been this furious in my life. "Do you think I won´t do it?", I hissed, increasing the pressure of the pistol against his bony chest. He gasped, probably both in shock and in pain. "I can assure you that I know how it is done.", I went on. In the first few months after our wedding, when Raoul had still been very anxious that Erik might try to take revenge on him, he had bought the weapon I was presently holding in my hand and showed me how to use it as well. At that time I hadn´t seriously believed I´d ever need it.

"Christine… Don´t do something you´ll regret later!", Erik warned me. His gaze darted from my face to the pistol and back. "Do you have any idea how loud a shot would be? It would alert Philippe in no time, and how would you explain to your son that there´s a dead body lying at your feet?" How could he still argue this rationally? Any why, for Heaven´s sake, was he always right?

A slight change, maybe a softening of my features, seemed to give him new hope for his voice grew stronger as he continued: "I don´t care about my life. If I can´t have the boy, it´s worthless anyway. But I don´t want him to see things like corpses at such an early age. It would haunt him for the rest of his life, and every year at his birthday he´d be reminded of it.".

Then he stopped, and his eyes bored into mine while he waited, an accused who had spoken his last words and was ready to accept the judge´s sentence. I had forgotten how incredibly beautiful those eyes were, and seeing them so close was startling. Suddenly I remembered that briefly after our first meeting, when I had been just a little in love with him, I had wished for our future children to inherit his eyes. This tiny, insignificant memory made me recall that the man standing inches away hadn´t always been a heartless monster for me. Once he had been my teacher, my friend, my confidant. He had meant more to me than any other person in the world.

I glanced down at my hand holding the pistol so firmly that the knuckles had turned white. Was this really still me, on the verge of shooting someone, of taking someone´s life? In this moment I knew I´d never be able to do it. I let my arm sink, and the pistol fell to the floor like a useless piece of metal. A second later I had joined it, slumping down as if I hadn´t had a single bone left in my body. At last the constant tension of the last minutes, of the last years was gone, replaced by a huge sadness. I tried to pull myself together, but couldn´t help covering my face with my hands and sobbing like a little girl.

Strong arms were wrapped around me, and without opening my eyes I knew that Erik was kneeling next to me and tried to comfort me. I could also smell him. It was an earthy, musty scent, combined with just a hint of cologne. I remembered it so very well. "Erik…", I breathed. "Sh…", he muttered soothingly. "Don´t say anything now! Your soul needs to recover first."

So I continued crying, leaning against his terribly thin body with all my weight. I cried and cried till his shirt had absorbed every tear. Then I straightened up to look at him. My eyes were hurting slightly, bit it was strangely pleasant, as if for some reason I could be sure those had been the last tears I had shed for a long time. "I´m sorry.", I mumbled. "I´m acting like a stupid child…"

"No, Christine.", he contradicted me. His voice sounded choked. If I hadn´t known better, I´d have thought he held back tears. "I am the one who has to apologise.", he went on. "You´re only in this state because of me. I controlled you for all those years. But you have to believe me that I´ve only done all this to see you happy. I wanted you to lead a perfect life. You deserve a perfect home, perfect dresses, prefect children… and a perfect husband." Now I could clearly see the suspicious moisture in his eyes.

Desperately I tried to get out a certain question, yet the words seemed to be stuck in my throat. Finally I managed to whisper: "Erik, do you still… love me?". Whatever response I might have expected, this one came as a complete surprise. He let go of me and stood up abruptly, almost as if touching me had burnt him all of a sudden. I staggered and would have fallen forwards if I hadn´t stretched out my arms at the last second.

"Of course I do.", he snarled, glancing down at me scornfully. "I´m not as fickle as you are. My feelings are eternal. Do you really think 3707 days of you being married to that fool can change them?" I was truly impressed. "You… you counted the days?", I asked shyly. "Well, it´s not as if I had had anything better to do.", he hissed. With those words he marched over to the cabinet and took out a glass and a bottle containing a brown liquid, probably the sherry I had refused earlier.

Even from my place on the floor I could see the determination in his strides, in the way he brought the glass to the table and settled down again. I knew this topic was finished, and no matter how confused it had made me, I´d have to deal with it myself. Slowly I came to my feet as well, went to the sofa and sat down. There were many things I´d have liked to talk to him about, but I didn´t dare start the conversation again.

Eventually it was he who did it, in a business-like voice. "What about the boy now?" "You cannot take him away from me, Erik! Please…", I instantly pleaded. I had a bit more hope than the last time I had done so. He had shown that he still had feelings for me. Would he really try to hurt me? ´What a stupid question is that?´, a small voice in my head whispered. ´Five minutes ago you tried to kill him…´ Nevertheless I continued: "Philippe needs me and the rest of his family… and his home… and his friends. You said you liked him, so you surely don´t want him to become unhappy, do you?".

Erik took a sip of his drink and stared into space while moment after moment passed agonisingly slowly. It was perfectly quiet in the room, so quiet that I jumped as the clock struck midnight. I didn´t know if the sound had startled him as well or he was simply finished pondering, but at last he looked over at me, his gaze so intense that a shiver ran down my spine. "What would you think about a bargain?", he asked. "What kind of bargain?", I muttered suspiciously.

"I heard you want to start with your son´s education as soon as you´ve found a good teacher.", he stated. I nodded hesitantly. "What if I became his teacher? I can show him everything you wish for him to know… and much, much more. I can open a new world for him!" "And how should I tell Raoul about it?", I wanted to know, interrupting his sudden enthusiasm. He shook his head impatiently. "Not at all.", he replied flatly. "You just have to tell him that it´s no longer necessary to search for a teacher because you have already employed the perfect one. The education will take place in my house most of the time, so that he won´t see me, even on the rare occasion when he´s home."

In a gesture I couldn´t quite understand he placed his hand on my upper arm for a few moments. When he spoke again it was less controlled and far more urgent. "I´m an old man, Christine. Can´t you comprehend that I don´t want all my knowledge lost for good once I don´t walk on earth anymore? Your boy can inherit my whole realm, but till it happens he´ll stay with you. And I…" He hesitated for a second and cleared his throat. "I´d have someone else I could love. Maybe he´d even like me a little…"

I swallowed hard, trying to keep tears of pity from welling up in my eyes. Hadn´t I thought the time for crying was over? Apparently I had been wrong. He stretched out his hand, and I shook it. "All right.", I muttered. "But… you won´t teach him how to kill." Whether he hadn´t heard me or chose to ignore my words, I couldn´t tell. I felt an uneasy feeling rise in my throat. Involuntarily my gaze wandered to the pistol lying on the floor next to the door. At least I was sure _that_ decision had been right.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

**August 7th 1892: **_Erik_

After a short while we found the child in the room that should have been Christine´s. Actually it still was her room for I hadn´t changed much. Though my hope of her returning to me one day had dwindled over the years, I couldn´t bring myself to using it for something else. The only difference was a huge cage in the corner next to the bed, beautifully ornamented in silver and gold.

And it was in front of the cage that Philippe stood, gazing at its occupant. A bird of paradise, about three feet tall, sat on the perch. The plumage had every colour one could imagine, from bright yellow and orange over scarlet and light blue to dark velvety green. Eyes, beak and claws were pitch black. I should have known we´d find the boy here, with the most extraordinary creature he had ever seen.

The moment we had entered the room Christine left her place at my side and went to him, looking at the bird with the same fascination that had seized her son. A minute or two passed in awed silence. Finally Philippe seemed to notice our presence. Not taking his eyes off the bird for a second he asked: "Why doesn´t it move? I´m here for such a long time, and it has never budged.". "Surely it´s asleep.", his mother whispered. "Maybe it can sleep with its eyes open…"

"It doesn´t move because it´s not real.", I corrected her softly. "It´s mechanical. I made it myself." Walking up to them I couldn´t help smiling. I wouldn´t have thought that Christine would fall for my illusion as well. But then, she had always been tricked easily. Perhaps she hadn´t changed that much after all.

As I approached them she took a step to the side, so that I could stand between Philippe and her. My smile widened; this gesture revealed more than a thousand words. Christine was willing to accept me as a part of her son´s life… and maybe also of her own. "It´s so beautiful.", she breathed. "Are those real feathers?" "No.", I answered. Pointing at one of the bird´s wings I explained: "Do you see how the light is reflected on it, as if the animal was flexing its wings, ready to fly away? It´s made of thousands of pearls and tiny pieces of glass." "But it must have taken you ages to produce it.", Christine whispered, glancing at me briefly. I could detect a hint of the old admiration in her eyes, and my heart leapt. Trying to pull myself together I replied humbly: "Actually it only were a few months. I wanted a very special present for my boy.".

The phrase ´my boy´ made her jump slightly, yet her reaction was drowned by the child´s. "My present?", he cried in a delighted voice. "Oh, thank you! Does that mean I can take it with me?" "I´m afraid that won´t be possible.", I told him. "It´s too heavy to carry, especially with the cage. But you can see it every time you´re here." "You know, Philippe…", Christine interjected. "…we´ve decided that… erm, Uncle Erik will become your teacher. I´ll bring you here every day, so that you can learn something, just like I bring Antoinette to Mme.Tadoux."

"Great!", the boy exclaimed, beaming at us. "And what will you teach me?" "Well, reading and writing and… and I´ll teach you how to make this bird sing." "Sing?", mother and son repeated in almost perfect unison. I nodded proudly. "Would you like to hear him?", I asked. "_Him_? So it´s a boy?", Philippe wanted to know, looking at the animal curiously, as if he expected it to give the answer. "Of course he is.", I said a little bitterly. "Only the male birds of paradise sing. The female ones prefer sitting on their eggs, oblivious to how much beauty their voices once contained…" Christine didn´t fail to notice the sideways glance I threw her. "It´s quite late.", she muttered. "Perhaps we should better-"

In this moment the bird´s song began, and at once she seemed to forget what she had been about to say. It was a song without words that I sent from my mouth into the bird´s beak, a cheerful melody like those of sparrows and blackbirds on a summer morning. Yes, I still remembered what they sounded like, even though I hadn´t listened to them in a very long time. Christine and her boy were fascinated, their eyes glued to the bird, which moved its head and opened and closed its beak – another illusion of mine.

Yet as I watched her something strange happened: I grew angry at her. Why did she have the right to enjoy my music whereas no one was allowed to listen to her anymore? Why had she simply stopped singing, after all the effort I had needed to turn her voice into that of an angel? And why, _why_ had she left me alone for such a long time, only returning here because she thought she had to protect her son?

Gradually my song changed. On first glance it remained the same happy tune, but the undertone became accusing and haunting. I had practiced very long; it wasn´t difficult to place a message only Christine would understand. ´Do you hear it? Do you hear how beautiful it sounds? Your voice used to be like that. Do you remember how good it felt to sing? Remember it, child! Remember me! Remember… us!´

I repeated the sentences in my mind over and over, and it worked. Philippe stayed where he was, as cheerful as he had been all the time, but his mother turned around to face me. I had taken a few steps backwards to focus on my song, and she closed the space between us at once. Now we were standing as closely together as before, just without the pistol separating us. Our bodies were touching. And oh, how warm she was!

Automatically I continued singing, but my mind was only on her. Tentatively I wrapped my arms around her, and she melted into the embrace. The way she looked at me was pure admiration, a hundred times stronger than before. I hardly dared breathe. Her rosy lips were close, much too close. Our eyes met, and in the next moment she was standing on tiptoe and pressed her mouth against mine. It had been so long since the last time this had happened, so long… I should have been overjoyed, but after the first second all I felt was guilt. She surely didn´t want this. I had evoked feelings in her that didn´t really exist. So I couldn´t go on, no matter what my body was telling me.

"Enough!", I growled, ending the song abruptly and pushing Christine away from me. She swayed dangerously, and it seemed to take her a few moments to find her way back into reality. Then she whispered: "What have you done to me?". "Nothing… I´m sorry… You have to go now…", I told her urgently. Wordlessly she turned around and shook her son´s shoulder slightly.

Unlike her, Philippe smiled brightly when he woke up from his almost trance-like state. "That was wonderful, Uncle Erik!", he said. "Will I really learn to do such things?" "Maybe this won´t be the first thing we´ll do, but yes, you´ll learn it.", I assured him. "We´ll start the day after tomorrow. Please be here at nine o´clock." "Oh, can´t we stay for another song? The bird doesn´t look tired at all. I´m sure he´d like to sing more.", the boy pleaded, pouting slightly. Suddenly I found myself facing what was surely his strongest weapon, and I realised it would be hard to deny him a wish.

Yet today there was still his mother with us, who doubtlessly had more experience in that area than I had. "No, no, no, we have to go now.", she said firmly, taking his hand. "It´s past midnight, and Uncle Erik needs his sleep. Otherwise he´ll be too tired to teach you anything." I nodded, even though I knew that any attempt to fall asleep tonight would be in vain. The things that had happened in the last minutes were enough to keep me awake for the next week.

"You´ll find the way back?", I asked. "Of course.", Christine answered. She seemed to be both surprised and glad that I hadn´t offered to accompany them. It would have been too tempting for me. Quickly I brought them to the door. Then she and I stood in front of each other, not knowing how to say ´goodbye´. Philippe interrupted the awkward silence. "What´s the bird´s name?", he wanted to know. I smiled at him and gave Christine a questioning glance. "Orpheus.", I finally replied.

**Author´s note: **Orpheus is a person from Greek mythology. It is said that his voice and the sound of his lyre, a musical instrument he had invented himself, were able to tame the wildest beasts. His beloved wife Eurydice was bitten by a snake and died. Orpheus descended into the underworld and persuaded the king and queen, Hades and Persephone, to let her go. The only condition was that he had to walk in front of her without looking back. Yet eventually he did exactly this, and Eurydice had to return into the underworld. Furious with himself Orpheus decided to mourn forever and never loved a woman again.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

**August 7th 1892: **_Erik_

I left my house about half an hour after Christine and her son had gone. It was one of those nights in which I couldn´t stand the quiet of my home, only interrupted by the sound of the clock. Sometimes I enjoyed playing the organ for hours in such nights, till the noise had drowned everything else and I felt slightly better, despite my bleeding fingertips. If I had used this method more often, both my hands and my hearing would have been damaged before long. But at least it was healthier than drinking.

Yet today no amount of music could distract me from her scent in every room she had entered. Even now, as I was walking aimlessly through the corridors, the pictures in my head didn´t leave me in peace. Christine sitting in my armchair, Christine standing next to her boy, Christine kneeling on the floor, Christine sobbing in my arms… Countless times I had thought about the moment when she´d eventually return to me, and depending on my mood and the degree of my despair different versions had developed. On good days I let her come back to me crying about the mistakes she had made in leaving me. On bad days she returned crying because her husband had died a gruesome death and she was in need of consolation.

The truth had been nothing like I had imagined. The only similarity was the Christine had indeed cried and I had comforted her. But the rest? She hadn´t even really returned! It had been more like a brief visit to an unpleasant uncle, whom she had to meet because she owed him something, only to leave again as quickly as possible.

For about one minute we had talked about love. Yet it had only been my love for her. Not with a single word she had mentioned how she felt about seeing me again. I hadn´t dared ask whether she still loved me. ´Still?´, a little voice in my head repeated in a mocking voice. ´She has never loved you. Her heart has always belonged to the Vicomte. You can count yourself lucky if she only pities and doesn´t hate you.´

This was definitely something I didn´t want to hear. I continued my way upwards, quickening my pace. Perhaps I could escape from that voice. I didn´t need anyone to tell me things I already knew. Yet not for the first time I had to realise it was boring to wander around in the opera by night, when it was almost as quiet here as in my home. By day all the people rushing through the corridors, the rehearsals and the constant noise were very useful for distracting me.

My feet came to a halt in front of a door, and I noticed that they had carried me to the dressing room of the new leading soprano. Four years after Christine had left the opera I had finally got rid of La Carlotta. A few more or less subtle threats had done the job very nicely. But then, after her beloved´s death she hadn´t been too attached to the position anymore. I had heard she worked at the opera of Milan now. Maybe the Italians preferred screaming to actual singing.

Almost wistfully my fingers glided over the smooth wood of the door. I had hoped so much that my former student would come back to replace Carlotta. The time had been chosen carefully: Her daughter had already been old enough to be left in the care of a maid for a couple of hours every day, and Jacqueline had been employed a few weeks previously. Yet no matter how often the announcement had been published in the newspaper, she had never shown the slightest bit of interest. I had kept the position vacant for maybe half a years. Then, at the beginning of 1887, my hopes had been destroyed for Christine had been with child again.

After that time many divas had ´graced´ the stage with their presence, but none of the ladies had stayed for long. They had all blamed the Opera Ghost for their failure, yet actually I was only responsible for a few accidents every now and then. Most of them had simply not been ready for the life as a prima donna. Donatella Marchesi was no exception; still she was already here for four mouths. I felt a strong dislike for the woman. Her stupid smile and constant giggling, combined with an unnecessary amount of tossing her black hair and showing her cleavage, made Carlotta appear like a sensible person all of a sudden. According to a rumour among the ballet rats the managers made attempts to get Signora Giudicelli back. I could understand them.

At least none of the singers had lived in Christine´s old dressing room. I would have never allowed it. For some strange reason no one could comprehend the room had locked itself after her departure, and it would stay this way until she´d return. The room I was currently standing in front of was an old one that had been redecorated for those purposes. My fingers were itching to sneak inside and let the diva´s left shoes vanish or pour black paint into her face cream. But somehow I wasn´t in the right mood. Besides, I had to think of a few things I hadn´t already tried.

Suddenly I knew where I had to go. Quickly I made my way further upwards. My steps grew so fast that I was panting slightly when I finally reached my destination: the roof. The moment I opened the door and walked out I felt like a new person. I let cool night air stream into my lungs. How refreshing it was! I moved with the absolute self-assurance of a sleepwalker. Not an inch of the opera was unfamiliar to me, not even up here.

It was a pleasant place in summer, when it was warm enough to sit outside at night. Passing Apollo´s Lyre I recalled how many hours I had spent pondering at this spot while the conversation I had overheard more than ten years ago was repeated in my head over and over again. The anger and despair I had felt was still as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Sometimes I had even wondered why I hadn´t simply grabbed the Vicomte at the day and pushed him down the roof. It would have been an easy solution, wouldn´t it? Yet Christine would have despised me for it.

Christine… all my thoughts came back to her in the end. Had I done anything in the last decade without her picture on my mind, her voice in my head and my love for her in my heart? The honest answer was ´no´. But I knew this had to change, now that I´d see her again on a regular basis. The bird´s song and the kiss had been a dangerous example of what I was capable of in her presence. Such an incident could never happen again, even though I longed for it to happen.

Involuntarily one of my hands wandered upwards and my index finger traced my lips. Even through the leather I could feel that they had become softer, warmer. None of the people down there in the streets could understand how much a single kiss changed a person. Those careless fools, kissing each other countless times without having the slightest idea of what it meant!

´Idiot!´, I scolded myself. ´Why are you standing here like a statue, musing about kissing? There are more important things.´ Yes, I had to pull myself together and stop thinking about it quite that much. Hastily I left behind the part of the roof I usually sat on and went to the opposite side, where I finally settled down.

After some moments of staring at the dark sky Philippe came to my mind, making me smile. Despite the resemblance to his father he was a nice little boy, and the thought of what I´d be able to teach him cheered me up at once. He´d be a good pupil, I was sure of it. His eagerness to learn, to understand had been clearly visible even today, when he had been tired.

In my mind I was already writing lists of the order in which to bring up certain topics. I soon realised it wouldn´t be easy. The most important aspect was not to forget that he was a normal child, not a recluse like myself. So many things I had learned from books much too difficult for my age. Besides, my own teaching experience was limited to the singing. Of course that would be part of our studies as well. There were a lot of wonderful songs for boys, and I was truly looking forward to hearing a different voice from my own in my house. Maybe there would even be laughter, sweet and innocent…

Hours passed while I was planning, growing increasingly cheerful. It had been a great idea to teach the boy, that much was certain. And as long as I avoided any thought of his mother I´d be fine. When dawn began to give the sky a new colour I knew it was time to return to my world. Soon the first stage hands would arrive, and I didn´t feel like meeting anyone. Yawning I came to my feet and walked to the door leading downwards.

Even though I took every possible shortcut, the way back to the cellars seemed to be very long. I was ridiculously relieved as I came to my home and could sink into the soft coolness of my coffin. It was only then, at the border to falling asleep, that I noticed what a treacherous object my hand was. A second time it was touching my lips, and if I focused hard enough, I could still feel her mouth.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

**August 7th 1892: **_Christine_

I had fallen asleep with the bird´s song in my head and I woke up with it. Looking out of the window at the pale blue sky I wondered whether all the things I could remember from last night hadn´t simply been a dream. Surely I´d never dare visit Erik in his home, taking both my son and a pistol with me. Any why should I have agreed to the plan of him becoming Philippe´s teacher? In retrospect all this sounded very peculiar.

But where did this song come from then? I could still hear every note, and it filled me with sadness and a strange longing… Gasping in shock I sat up. "Oh God!", I breathed, every last bit of sleepiness vanishing. I had kissed Erik! I had kissed a man who was not my husband. And this man had been… well, _Erik_. I couldn´t decide which of these facts was worse.

Admittedly other men had kissed me before. Yet those kisses had been polite ones, with lips barely brushing the back of my hand before moving on to the next lady. With Erik it had been completely different. First of all, we had kissed each other – I had been quite as active as he. If I recalled it correctly, I had even been the one to start it.

And the kiss itself… even the memory made me blush. My lips had actually touched his. It hadn´t been just a few moments either; it had felt like hours. I was glad that Philippe had been too enthralled by the bird´s song to see us. The bird… Had all this been some kind of magic, used by Erik to make me forget everything else?

Of course it had been. I ended my pondering abruptly and got up. It was no good to lie here in bed, thinking about how good the kiss had felt… Good? My cheeks grew even redder. Seizing my dressing gown I tried to convince myself that it hadn´t felt good at all. In fact, I hadn´t felt anything, except the wish that it would be over soon. Yet as I walked over to my bathroom I still couldn´t answer one question: If the kiss had been that terrible, why did I want it to happen again?

…………………………………………………………………………………………………...

When I emerged from the bathroom and went downstairs to breakfast half an hour later I had decided that it would be best not to think about the incident again. I was dressed in a cream-coloured blouse and a dark blue skirt. Raoul loved those colours. Although I knew he wouldn´t be back until the day after tomorrow, I enjoyed choosing clothes he liked as well. A faint scent of different flowers enveloped me. The perfume had been a present to our wedding day, and I inhaled deeply, smiling dreamily.

Entering the dining room I was surprised to see only Jacqueline and Antoinette sitting there at the table, already halfway through their breakfast. Usually Philippe was the first one to wake up. Sometimes his voice could be heard echoing through the entire house at six in the morning because he didn´t understand why he couldn´t get up yet. Noticing my questioning glance at the empty chair next to hers the maid said: "Good morning, Madame! Philippe is still fast asleep. As you returned so late yesterday I thought it best to leave him in peace. He can have his breakfast later.".

"But I´m already here!", Antoinette interjected, waving merrily. "I´m not such a sleepyhead." She seized my hand and pulled me down to sit next to her. I could hardly reach for the teapot before my daughter began to shoot questions at me. "Where have Philippe and you been last night? I woke up because I had had a nightmare, and Jacqueline told me you had gone out. Where did you go? And why didn´t you take me with you?"

The ridiculously good mood in the morning, a character trait both children had inherited from their father, wasn´t easy to endure on a normal day. After a night like this it was pure torture. "Antoinette, please…", I muttered, lifting my hand in an appeasing gesture. "Give me a moment! Then I´ll answer everything…" She glanced at me a little sulkily, but allowed me to fill my cup. After the first sips of steaming hot tea I felt revived enough to reply: "We just visited a friend. It wasn´t… very… interesting…". My voice trailed off. I had always taught my children to be honest, and lying to my daughter wasn´t something I did without a guilty conscience.

If I had assumed she would be satisfied with such a short answer, I had been wrong. At once more questions poured from her mouth while her croissant lay forgotten on her plate. "Which friend do you mean? It is someone I know? A man or a woman?" "It´s a… man.", I said uneasily. "You don´t know him. He lives… at the Opéra Populaire." A strange sound made both of us jump. Jacqueline, who had listened in silence so far, had let her knife slip from her hand, and it had landed on her plate, right on top of her slice of bread. The maid herself had turned pale and she was stammering: "The opera… no… why… what did he…?". Leaning over the table I whispered: "That´s what I wanted to talk to you about anyway. But we´ll do it later.".

Jacqueline nodded miserably and resumed eating while Antoinette was glancing at me sternly. "You´ve been to the opera… without me?", she exclaimed. It sounded as if I had kept her from visiting an enchanted castle inhabited by fairies and unicorns. But then, to her the opera was indeed something like that. Realising that it had been just the same for me a long time ago I could hardly suppress a sigh. Occasionally I envied my daughter for her carelessness.

Looking at her I noticed that she was also making her bottom lip tremble now, which was a dangerous sign. "I´m sorry." , I told her, meaning it. "Will you let me accompany you the next time you go there?", she wanted to know, changing the expression on her face from devastated to hopeful within the blink of an eye. "No.", I said quickly. As much as I hated to disappoint her, I was not willing to hand over my daughter as well.

"But maybe we could watch a performance some day.", I suggested to improve her mood at least a little. "I´ll talk to Meg about which opera would be the right for you." It wouldn´t be easy to go to the opera and sit in the audience, yet it occurred to me that if I wouldn´t be able to do it myself, I could also sent the maid with her. "Oh, thank you, Maman!", Antoinette cried. She jumped up from her seat, nearly knocking over the chair, and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Smiling brightly about her sudden display of affection I asked: "Would you mind leaving us alone for a while? You can take the croissant to your room and eat it there.". The girl grabbed her plate and left, the joy making her steps bouncy.

When she was gone Jacqueline stood up as well. I frowned. "Where do you think you´re going?" "To my room.", she replied shortly. "I have to pack my things." Throwing me a bitter glance she went on: "We don´t have to discuss anything. You´ve talked to your… your friend, so you know what I´ve done behind your back all those years. And now you´re dismissing me.". She tried to sound as if she didn´t care about it, yet I could see that she had to pull herself together. Surely she felt more like crying.

I shook my head. "Please sit down again.", I said gently, and she complied, looking at me as if she thought me to be insane. "I made the mistake of not listening properly when talking to Marielle.", I explained. "If I had heard her entire story, I´d have never believed she was the guilty person. So I´ll give you the chance she didn´t have: Tell me why you´re working for Erik!".

Now she was frowning. "Erik? Is that his name?", she asked. "He never told me." "You work for a man whose name you don´t know? How peculiar!", I muttered, quite forgetting for a moment how long it had taken till I had found out his real name. "How did you address him then?" The maid replied: "I didn´t address him at all. I´ve never even met him.". Somehow her statements didn´t make sense to me. So I said: "I´m growing more confused with every word. Could you start at the beginning, please?".

After Jacqueline had taken a sip of tea she began to speak in a distant voice. "The first time he… well, approached me was years ago. I had just started working for you and was quite euphoric about the things I could do with the money I´d earn. Yet soon I had to find out that it wasn´t nearly enough to afford the thing I wanted more than anything else: private ballet lessons for my sister Clarille. She was only a little girl at that time, but she loved dancing and was very musical." She smiled reminiscently, suddenly looking quite young herself.

For some moments she seemed to be lost in thought, yet when I cleared my throat she continued hastily. "One evening I found a letter on my pillow in the room I had before moving in here. A man who called himself ´O.G.´ offered to pay for everything Clarille would need in exchange for a little service. Of course I assumed this O.G. worked in one of the ballet schools I had visited and he´d expect my service to be of the… well, physical kind. I´d have never sunk that low, not even for my sister, but in a second letter he assured me that he only wanted information about your household, especially Antoinette and any children you might have later. I found it rather peculiar. Still… You have no idea what it´s like to be poor.", she suddenly addressed me. "All I want is the best education possible for my sister. The rest matters little to me."

Her honesty was truly touching. When I had first heard that one of my maids had turned into a spy I had been furious, but now I could understand her. Erik had been right: I ´d have probably done the same. Yet there was still a question unanswered. "In which form did you pass on the information if you never saw him?", I asked. "I sent letters to the opera.", she explained with a tentative smile. "That´s why I know he lives there. And when he came to visit your son I left with Antoinette, so that she wouldn´t meet him. He didn´t want to take the risk of her telling you everything."

I nodded. "Maybe Philippe has woken up by now.", I then said. "Could you have a look into his room, please?" "Do you mean… I can stay here?", she whispered. "Of course you can.", I answered. "As long as you promise to keep Erik informed, that is…" The expression on Jacqueline´s face grew positively bewildered. "But… but why?", she stammered. "I know he could find someone else in a matter of days.", I told her simply with a small smile. "And I think it´s better if his spy is on my side."


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

**August 8th 1892: **_Erik_

There were far more fascinating ways of spending one´s afternoon than watching the chorus girls practice on stage. They resembled a flock of sheep, standing together in small groups, bleating about some unimportant gossip. Mme.Giry was the only one who could actually make them work every now and then. Yet since neither she nor her daughter were here today, none of the girls knew what to do, which only caused them to bleat more loudly.

One of the older ballet rats, a pale girl with freckles and hair the colour of straw, tried in vain to start the rehearsal. "All right! Let´s begin with the warm up!", she called, but only about a third of the sheep moved to the front and followed the instructions of the helpless-looking shepherdess. The rest continued chatting, ignoring the fact that they were mainly paid to work with their arms and legs, not with their mouths. But then, with all the patrons most of them had encountered I couldn´t blame them for believing the opposite.

Quickly I wrote down a few more words on the piece of paper on my lap and looked at the stage again, stifling a yawn with my hand. It was a dull work, yet I regarded it as my duty to check the chorus girls about once a month and tell Mme.Giry about my observations. After all, I couldn´t let the managers pay me for nothing, could I? Besides, I didn´t want to ruin my opera´s reputation by having incompetent dancers.

"Oh, stop acting like a teacher, Nadine!", another girl was just shouting. "This is our chance to have a little fun!" "But they said Mme.Giry will come back today, and if she finds out that we´re not practicing-", the shepherdess argued, only to be interrupted by the other girl. "She should have been back yesterday, and do you see her anywhere? I bet there are so many new dancers that she won´t return until next week."

I made a note of the names of the rebellious girls. Maybe their ballet mistress could talk some sense into them. The argument on stage grew noisier, and I brought the fingertips of my unoccupied right hand to my temple and massaged it. A dull throbbing announced the beginning of a headache. I had no idea how Mme.Giry survived hours of this bickering every day; not even fifteen minutes had passed, and I already longed for the quiet of my home.

Fortunately I was spared any more of the quarrel for in this moment Signora Marchesi appeared on stage, wearing a dress in a garish yellow and her brightest smile. The latter, however, disappeared quickly when she noticed that all the people around her were female. "Dai! Perché quelle ragazze sono qui?", she exclaimed. "Vorrei lavorare!" I couldn´t help shaking my head. Actually that woman spoke French very well – I had heard her do so on a dozen occasions. She just didn´t seem to care about being understood by the members of the chorus, whom she regarded as little more than peasants.

The girls looked at each other, completely puzzled. After a few moments the pale girl who had tried to replace Mme.Giry addressed the diva. "I beg your pardon, Madame? What did you say?" Signora Marchesi threw her a scornful glance, and the girl shrank back. "I want to practice here.", she was informed. "As you are not doing anything important I can as well start right now, can´t I?" "Of course!", the girl muttered. Within just a few moments all the ballet rats had left.

I decided to do the same. The singer was dragging a timid-looking pianist onto the stage, and I practically fled from Box Five. Once or twice I had had the questionable pleasure of hearing her murder a few arias. It had been ten times worse than the chorus girls and would doubtlessly only serve to increase my headache. What I needed was a little fresh air and the ability to stretch my legs. I´d go for a walk.

Normally I didn´t leave the opera before sunset, but with my fedora pulled down and the cloak covering the lower part of my face it would work. Of course such an appearance would look peculiar on a hot summer day, yet after a few minutes in the street I realised that there weren´t many people out anyway, probably due to the heat. With every step I made away from the opera my head felt better.

I didn´t quite know why I suddenly ended up at Christine´s house. Maybe it had been fate, just as it was fate that she was sitting in the garden with her children. None of the glanced in my direction. It was a simple matter to climb over the wall and hide behind a tree. I was even close enough to hear them talking.

"Poor Philippe!", the little girl called Antoinette said. "Now that you also have a teacher there won´t be much time left for playing. Instead you´ll have to stay inside, writing words or practicing to read." "My teacher isn´t like your boring old Mme.Tadaux.", her brother argued. "He´s great. You should have seen all the things in his house! And the bird…" I couldn´t keep my heart from swelling with pride. Philippe hadn´t met me more often than a dozen times, and yet he was defending me. He truly was his mother´s son.

_Christine_

I didn´t know how to feel about my son´s words. On the one hand it was good that he liked his teacher. But on the other hand it made me worried. Like most children he talked a lot about the things he liked, and given the boy´s normal eagerness Raoul would have found out everything five minutes after his arrival. Unless… "There´s something I forgot to mention.", I said in a loud voice, drowning out the argument of my two little ones. "This whole subject is a big secret. We mustn´t tell anyone about it."

Both children looked at me in surprise. "Not even Papa?", Philippe asked. "Especially not Papa!", I replied. Hastily I tried to find an explanation. "You know, your father and… erm, Uncle Erik don´t like each other. They… well, they once had a huge quarrel about… something you wouldn´t understand anyway. Hearing that Uncle Erik will be your teacher would only make Papa upset." I was quite pleased with myself because I had managed to get out all this without a single lie.

"Of course you can tell other people that Philippe has a private teacher, but you mustn´t say who it is.", I repeated urgently. "Do you promise?" My son nodded, yet Antoinette seemed to have something else on her mind. "Maman?", she started slowly. "Philippe told me that this man lives in a house under the opera and wears a mask over half of his face. Is that true? Why does he do that?"

It wasn´t as if I hadn´t expected such a question to occur sooner or later. I had only hoped it would be later. Yet before I could answer my boy had already done so, in a completely casual voice. "Because people would hate him if they saw his face." For a moment I gaped at him open-mouthed. Then I pulled myself together. Surely Erik had spoken with him about the topic on a previous occasion; it sounded like something he´d say.

"Why? Is he that ugly?", Antoinette asked. She seemed more curious than shocked by the news that her brother would be taught by a masked man with an unusual place of living. I swallowed hard, not knowing what to reply. Again the task was taken over by Philippe, who called: "Then our cook should also wear a mask! She has such an ugly wart on her nose.". Quickly I glanced at the house, but fortunately the windows of the kitchen were closed.

Then I shook my head. "No, Erik isn´t ugly in the normal sense.", I told my children. "The right side of his face is… deformed since his birth. He´s like the beggar we´ve once seen in the street who was born with only one arm. Do you remember that some people stared at him and called him unfriendly names? Erik is afraid that this could happen to him as well, so he hides behind a mask."

"But doens´t he also hide by living far away from other people?", Antoinette pointed out. "Why does he have to hide twice?" For a moment my gaze grew distant as I recalled the few things Erik had told me about his youth. "He has been hurt very often.", I muttered, petting my daughter´s head absent-mindedly. "People don´t like him because he´s different from them."

The girl´s eyes grew wide. "That´s terrible!", she whispered. "He must be so lonely…" "Does he have no one who plays with him or reads to him, no one who says nice things to him when he has had a nightmare?", her brother asked, moving slightly, so that he could sit on my lap. The children´s concern for a man they hardly knew nearly brought tears to my eyes. "No, there is… no one…", I replied slowly.

"Does nobody like him, nobody at all?" This time the question came from Antoinette again. "Oh, some people do.", I hastened to answer. "Aunt Antoinette likes him, and Meg likes him…" "And you?", Philippe asked. His voice sounded a little sleepy. "Do you also like him?" "Yes.", I breathed, and for some reason my cheeks flushed. "Yes, I like him as well."

My daughter noticed the change in my face at once. "Maman, why are you-", she began, but was interrupted by the sound of snapping twigs. Turning around we saw a shadow jump over the wall. It was gone within a second. "What was that?", she cried timidly. "A cat.", I replied instantly. "Just a cat that came into the garden to search for food… We should better get inside now. It´s becoming too warm." By now Philippe had almost fallen asleep. I stood up without disturbing him and made my way to the house. Antoinette appeared relieved about my explanation; she was already chatting about something else. I only wished I could believe it as well. If it hadn´t been a cat, I´d face a lot of trouble tomorrow.

**Author´s note: **Signora Marchesi´s exact words are: "Oh no! Why are those girls here? I´d like to work." I apologise for any mistakes I might have made. My Italian isn´t too good.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter nineteen**

**August 9th 1892: **_Erik_

In the fifty-eight years of my existence I had gone through a lot of rough times. In my mind I had occasionally compared them to a high mountain. Yet no matter how often I had stumbled backwards, I had never given up. I had survived, and it had made me grow stronger. So how was it possible that after all this I got nervous just because I´d be visited by a little boy and his mother?

I was standing at the Rue Scribe entrance of the opera, safely hidden behind the door, and my fingers were drumming a rhythm of their own on the doorframe. Christine and I hadn´t discussed whether I´d welcome the boy at a certain spot. I didn´t even know where they´d arrive. Still I had decided against waiting at the main entrance. Surely she remembered that there was a lot of coming and going there at this time of day and sneak into the building here, where the chance of being seen was smaller.

Checking my pocket watch I noticed it was only a quarter to nine. I was early. Yet everything was prepared at home; nothing had kept me there. The prospect of fifteen more minutes of pondering hadn´t been too appealing. Ever since I had overheard the conversation of Christine and her children I had done little else anyway. ´Yes, I like him as well.´ I couldn´t count how often I had recalled those words. They had kept me warm at night and brought me through the day. How could a single sentence be that comforting?

She liked me. I had tried to interpret the statement over and over, but it was difficult. Even though I had found out many facts about Christine over the years, I knew little about what was going on in her head. This was nothing the servants or the choice of dress could have told me. Had she become like so many ladies of that part of society who ´liked´ everyone? Somehow I couldn´t imagine this had happened. She had never been a superficial girl.

Yet maybe she had only said it because of the children. It was a pity that I didn´t know what had gone on afterwards. What had her daughter been about to ask? If only I hadn´t tried to come closer and stepped on those twigs! Then I could have stayed. Perhaps I had missed the essential explanation. Or perhaps I was just attaching a much too great importance to her statement.

Sighing I realised that although I no longer was in my house, I still struggled with the same questions. They´d probably never leave me in peace, unless… unless I´d ask Christine myself. But doing that would have meant admitting I had been eavesdropping. The most important reason, however, was that I quite enjoyed this state of uncertainty, no matter how nerve-racking it was. As long as she didn´t say the contrary, I could interpret her sentence the way I pleased.

My pondering had an abrupt end when someone pushed at the door I was leaning against. I stumbled forwards, and only my quick reflexes kept me from crashing to the floor in a very undignified way. I spun around to glare at the culprit, yet the sarcastic remarks dried in my throat as Christine and her son came in. The bright sunshine blinded me for a moment. The contrast couldn´t have been more striking: Those two emerged from the light, whereas I shrank away from it.

"Erik?", Christine exclaimed. "What are you… Oh, did I push the door into your back? I´m sorry. I just thought it was… a little heavier today…" She gave an embarrassed little laugh. "Never mind.", I muttered, trying to hide my true feelings behind a layer of grumpiness. She looked so beautiful. Her dress had the colour of the sky, and the frills on her sleeves resembled small white clouds. How I wished I could have told her all that and so much more! How I wished I could have placed my heart at her feet! Maybe this was just the right moment. I opened my mouth. "Close the door.", I commanded. "You know I don´t like the light."

She complied hastily, motioning her son to step forward. "Good morning, Uncle Erik!", he said. His cheerfulness decreased slightly as he added: "Or do I have to call you ´Monsieur´, now that you´re my teacher?". Smiling I shook my head. "I don´t think that´ll be necessary. Good morning, Philippe." Ever since he had first used the term ´Uncle Erik´ to address me, I had liked it. It sounded friendly, as if I really was a part of his family.

I was positively surprised when the boy seized my hand and shook it unflinchingly. Either he hadn´t noticed the cold seeping through the gloves or he didn´t care about it. Encouraged by his excellent behaviour I moved closer to greet Christine in a decent way. Her hand was warm in mine as I bent down to kiss it, and a thin film of perspiration enveloped it. Given the hot weather this wasn´t astonishing and wouldn´t have held me back. I longed for the feeling of my lips on her skin.

Yet moments before they actually made contact she pulled her hand back quickly and pretended to look for something in her handbag. "Do you have a clean handkerchief, Philippe?", she asked. "You should always have one, just in case you might need." With some difficulty I suppressed a groan of frustration. Not for a second I believed that she was interested in handkerchiefs. No, her one intention had been to withdraw from me. It seemed that under normal circumstances she didn´t even allow me to kiss her hand. I gave her an angry glare, but it was lost for she was just looking at her son, who dutifully pulled a snow-white handkerchief out of his pocket. I could see that it was embroidered with his monogram. The de Chagny family had an exquisite taste.

"We should go down to my home now. It´s already past nine.", I said. Cursing myself for the slightly hopeful note that had sneaked into my voice I asked: "Would you like to come with us and have a cup of tea?". I only had to look into her face to know she´d refuse. Her verbal reply was barely necessary. "Thank you for the offer. But I don´t have enough time for staying. I have an appointment at the hairdresser´s. Raoul… he´ll come back today." So that was what had made her eyes sparkle like diamonds all the time. And I had been so foolish to assume she had been looking forward to meeting me.

I shrugged. "Come on, Philippe!", I called. "We have to get started." I had already turned around when she said: "Perhaps we can drink tea another time.". Did she sound hopeful now? No, surely I was imagining things. "Perhaps…", I mumbled, not deigning to look at her. Maybe it was best to take a leaf out of Christine´s book and pretend nothing had happened.

"You can pick up the boy at four o´clock.", I went on matter-of-factly. "Unless you´re too busy celebrating your reunion with the Vico- Comte, that is." It was hard to remain indifferent while the pictures of such a reunion were dancing in front of my mind´s eye, happy pictures of them embracing each other, kissing, stroking, caressing… I swallowed hard, fighting the sudden urge to shout and cry at the same time.

"Of course I´ll pick him up.", Christine said softly. "But do you have… food in your home? You know, Philippe is a little picky. Maybe I should have brought something…" "A few of the boy´s favourite meals are already prepared for him.", I assured her. "And none of them contains the slightest bit of cheese." I could practically hear him give a sigh of relief. Even as a baby he hadn´t liked cheese. "How… thoughtful of you.", she muttered. "Goodbye then…"

Now I did turn around to watch the child embrace his mother. A single tear rolled down her perfect cheek as he whispered: "Goodbye, Maman! I´m sure I´ll like it here.". He didn´t sound sad at all. After he had bid her farewell he returned to me and grabbed my hand again. I decided that I could get used to the feeling. We barely noticed that Christine closed the door behind her and left.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

**August 9th 1892: **_Christine_

Sitting in the coach on my way home I couldn´t help thinking that I didn´t like lying to Erik any better than lying to my children. There was no appointment at the hairdresser´s. I had refused to come with my former teacher because the possibilities frightened me. What if he had tried to do something indecent? What if _I_ had tried to do something indecent?

It had been just the same with the handkerchief. I couldn´t have cared less whether Philippe carried one around with him. I had simply needed an excuse to pull my fingers out of Erik´s grasp. My hand had been terribly sweaty; he couldn´t have seriously wanted to kiss it. Besides, allowing him to greet me like that was impossible. Maybe he´d have tried a kiss on the cheek next time, and after that…

I forbade myself to finish the thought, noticing that my palms had grown sweaty again, which had nothing to do with the weather. Wiping them at my dress and focusing on the street and the people outside the coach I realised how close we already were to our home. Just a few minutes later we turned around a corner, and I saw someone carrying two large suitcases. At once I knew what this meant. "Raoul!", I called cheerfully, waving.

The man turned around, and his face split into a broad smile. "Christine!", he exclaimed. Hastily he put the suitcases on the ground to wave as well. I could hardly wait for the coach to reach its destination. As soon as it stopped I jumped out and ran to my husband, who was hurrying toward me. We met halfway between the coach and the house. Raoul wrapped his arms around me and crushed me to his chest.

"I missed you so much, my darling.", he muttered into my hair. His breath tickled my skin, making me giggle softly. "I missed you, too.", I whispered. Looking up at him I pressed my lips against his. It was only then that I realised how much I had indeed missed him, his gentleness, his smile, his scent. Everything was so wonderfully familiar, as if her had never been gone.

When the kiss ended I asked: "Why are you already here? I thought you couldn´t be back until the evening.". "I left Oslo as soon as I could.", he explained. "My business partners weren´t too pleased, but I told them I had to spend as much time as possible with my son. After all, I missed his birthday. Where is he?" I felt him straighten up, probably glancing over my shoulder to see whether Philippe was also emerging from the coach.

Involuntarily I took a step backwards, letting go of him. My joy about having him at my side again had completely disappeared. Admittedly I had been aware that I´d have to tell him about the fact that our son had a private teacher. After all, he´d have been bound to notice that both children were leaving the house in the morning. But I had been hoping against hope I´d have a little more time to prepare myself.

Yet now that Raoul had asked, there was no going back. I cleared my throat. "Philippe is not here.", I said. "Erm… Why don´t we go inside and discuss everything over a cup of tea?" Actually I had no idea how tea would help me get over this. I was just repeating what people in books always did in difficult situations. Besides, I was afraid that one of us could have an emotional outburst in the street.

"What is it, Christine?", he wanted to know. "You´ve grown so pale, and your hands are trembling. Has something bad happened to Philippe? Is he ill? Or has he… no, that´s impossible… Please tell me what´s going on!" His voice had become more urgent with every word. Now he was staring at me wide-eyed. "It´s nothing like that.", I assured him, patting his arm awkwardly. "I´ve… found a teacher for the boy. Today is his first day. I´ve just brought him to the teacher´s house. He´ll be back in the afternoon."

I could practically see the tension vanish from my husband´s body. "Oh…", he made, giving me a tentative smile. "That´s good… very good… Is it one of those we had spoken to before my departure?" "No.", I replied. "It´s someone Antoinette Giry has recommended to me. He has an excellent reputation." I made a mental note to talk to Mme.Giry soon, just in case… "Well, if she likes him, I´m sure he´s a good teacher.", Raoul said, shrugging. It seemed that he was so glad that nothing bad had happened to Philippe that he´d have approved of anything. Inwardly I sighed in relief as he seized my hand and we made our way to the house, oblivious to the suitcases still standing where Raoul had left them.

Yet apparently it had been too early to rejoice. "There´s a part of your behaviour I don´t understand.", he told me, coming to a halt at the door. "If Philippe is all right, why were you so upset when I asked about him?" That was indeed a good question. It took me a few moments to find a suitable reply. "You reminded me of another subject, a less pleasant one.", I answered. "Some days ago I had to… dismiss Marielle. It happened on Philippe´s birthday, that´s why it came to my mind when you asked me."

I opened the door and went inside, giving Raoul time to take in what I had just said. After all, it wasn´t exactly common for me to dismiss a maid who had worked for us for years without as much as sending him a note. I didn´t have to wait long for his questions. "Why did you do that? I always assumed you liked Marielle. You picked her yourself. What has been going on? Did you catch her maltreat the children?" Anger welled up in his handsome face. He looked as if he was about to track down the former maid and maltreat her as well if she had done anything to out children.

Again I could make him calm down. "She had been stealing.", I informed him. "Or rather, she had been about to steal. I found out that her brother is a criminal and she has passed on details about our household. She had even given him a key to out back door. Oh, we have to exchange the lock there!" Glancing up at him nervously I asked: "Did I act correctly? Or should I have waited for you to come home?".

He shook his head. "I´d have done the same.", he said. "What would have been the point in waiting? I´ll have the lock exchanged today, then you don´t have to worry anymore." I beamed at him. For some reason I didn´t feel the slightest bit of a guilty conscience. It would have been different if Marielle hadn´t done anything wrong. Yet since I had simply not accused her of the right crime, I could justify my behaviour.

"Now that we´ve sorted out those problems you could tell me a little more about Philippe´s teacher.", Raoul suggested. The sparkle of curiosity in his eyes was something that both children had inherited from him. Usually I approved of it, but now it could have even been dangerous for me. "There isn´t… erm… that much… I could… well, tell you…", I stammered. "You could start with simple pieces of information.", he tried to help me. "What is his name? Where does he live? How long has he been a teacher? Where does Mme.Giry know him from?"

I looked around, frantically searching for someone of something to distract him with. I hated the thought of lying to my husband about so many things. At last an idea formed in my head. I reached up and cupped his face tenderly. Giving him a soft kiss on the cheek I whispered: "Can´t we forget Philippe and his teacher for a while? Come upstairs with me! Then I´ll show you an advantage of both our children not being at home…".

Slowly a smile lit up his face. "I think I´d like that.", he told me. I noticed that his voice had grown slightly husky, and a tingling sensation spread through my body. He picked me up from the floor as if I wasn´t heavier than a feather and carried me up the stairs to the bedroom. Minutes later every unpleasant thought had vanished not only from his mind.

**Author´s note:** I have bad news for you: I´ll be on holiday till March 7th. But I´ll come back full of inspiration because I´ll see POTO. So don´t forget this story!


	21. Chapter TwentyOne

**Chapter twenty-one**

**August 27th 1892: **_Christine_

Everything went surprisingly smoothly for a few weeks. At least to some extend Raoul´s job was to blame for it. Since he had returned from Oslo he seemed to be growing busier with each day that passed. Every morning more letters for him arrived, and he had so many meetings over lunch that he started to get worried about putting on weight. Under normal circumstances I´d have scolded him for such vanity, but at the moment I was glad that he had something else on his mind and forgot to ask questions about Philippe´s teacher.

I never found out what exactly that teaching included. Sometimes I saw my son brood over Antoinette´s discarded picture books, so I assumed reading was part of the lessons. Yet I couldn´t be certain. My usually so talkative child had grown very quiet about that subject. Surely his teacher forbade him to talk to me about it.

Of course I could have asked ´Uncle Erik´ myself. It wouldn´t have taken more than to accept his frequently repeated invitations for tea. Yet our brief meetings had strict rules, which we both obeyed without knowing the reason. I brought Philippe to the Rue Scribe entrance and Erik picked him up. Usually we both said ´Good morning!´, then he told me when my son´s lessons would be finished for the day. This routine was only interrupted when he asked me to have tea with him, which I refused. Then I left again, barely two minutes after I had come. In the afternoon Philippe was already waiting outside when I arrived in the coach. Erik never showed up at that time.

All that was beginning to get seriously on my nerves, but there was nothing I could do against it. It was as if our newly formed relationship was made of glass. The smallest mistake could make it shatter, and my son would have to pay for my wrong-doing. I´d rather live with the uncertainty than take such a risk. After all, I had no idea of Erik´s current state of mind. For all I knew he could have still been dangerous.

It was weeks after the start of his lessons that I noticed that first changes in Philippe´s behaviour. One morning I entered his bedroom as usual and called: "Wake up, my dear! It´s already eight o´clock.". Being quite the early riser he sat up at once and smiled at me. Yet when I opened the curtains he shrank back in horror. "The light is much too harsh! Make it go away!", he cried, desperately trying to avoid every last bit of sunshine by clapping his hands over his eyes. "It´s blinding me!"

As I spun around to look at him the curtain glided out of my grasp and fell shut. Immediately the child´s agony vanished and he breathed a sigh of relief, letting his arms sink again. "Thank you, Maman…", he muttered, still sounding a little weak. "I´m sorry, my dear.", I said, sitting down next to him. Pressing his small body against mine and placing his head at my chest I rocked him back and forth slowly. "That´s all his fault.", I mumbled angrily. "You spend so much time underground that you hardly know the sun anymore."

"I don´t like the sun anyway.", Philippe declared, lifting his head and glancing at me almost defiantly. "And I don´t like the day either. Uncle Erik told me so many stories about how wonderful the night is. Why do I always have to go to bed so early and miss it? Can´t I simply sleep at day-time?" I could hardly believe what I heard. As I didn´t want my son to notice how furious I was getting I took a deep breath to calm down. Then I explained: "Everybody sleeps at night and is awake at day: the flowers, the animals… and we humans as well.".

It was astonishing how quickly my child found a counterargument. "Uncle Erik doesn´t sleep at night.", he said with a hint of triumph. "He composes or he reads or he walks around in the opera to check whether everything is all right. It is his opera, after all, and he has to make sure that the work has been done correctly and no one deceives him. So if he doesn´t sleep, why can´t I do the same?" As I took in all this something in me snapped. I couldn´t bear listening to Erik´s words pouring from my innocent son´s lips anymore. "Because he´s not normal!", I cried. "He´s not like you and me. He´s a… a monster!"

For a moment it was so quiet that one could have heard a pin drop. Then Philippe freed himself out of my embrace. Getting to his feet he whispered: "How can you say that? I like Uncle Erik. And I thought you liked him as well…". I saw tears glistening in his blue eyes. "I didn´t mean it like that…", I muttered. Yet he was already running out of the room, away from his cruel and heartless mother. Quickly I stood up as well and dashed after him. Whatever it would take me, I had to make sure he wouldn´t tell Erik about what I had said.

_Erik_

"She called me a WHAT?", I yelled. The fury inside me was so strong that I could hardly breathe. Gasping for air I looked around me at what had been a perfectly normal dressing room merely minutes before. Now all chairs and the table were knocked over, and everything that had been on them lay on the floor. A vase was broken; the pieces were scattered next to single flowers, crusts of bread and stockings. The chorus girls would have a lot of work till they´d be able to use their room again. But then, that was none of my concern.

Finally my gaze fell on the person crouched in the corner. She was trembling all over and stared at me, as if she feared my outburst could be extended with her as my next target. "A m-m-monster.", she repeated timidly. "But I´m s-sure she didn´t want to sound that harsh. I shouldn´t have told you.Bbut I was afraid Philippe could mention it. Then you´d have… attacked him. Oh, if he had seen this!" Her face was very pale, and I could make out drops of cold sweat on her forehead.

Despite the seriousness of the situation I had to chuckle. "I have no intentions of attack the child… ever.", I stressed. "Nor will I harm you. After all, you´ve been quite helpful in the past, and I still need you. So get up from the floor and stop acting like a terrified girl!" Jacqueline complied hastily, nearly stumbling over the hem of her dress. "Can I go now?", she asked, inching into the direction of the door.

"I suppose so.", I answered. "Or did anything else happen afterwards?" She shook her head, not daring to meet my eye. "Madame de Chagny left as well and went after Philippe. I don´t know what they talked about in his room. Antoinette called for me because she needed my help, so I couldn´t listen anymore." "Very well. You may go.", I muttered with a dismissive gesture. "But don´t forget to keep me informed. Otherwise your sister could find herself out in the street all of a sudden. And who knows what could happen to a pretty girl like her all alone…" The snapping shut of the door told me that Jacqueline hadn´t heard the threat at all. She was already gone.

I stayed a little longer in the room, our usual meeting place. It was the one I had given Christine singing lessons in so many years ago. Now it belonged to the chorus girls, yet it still had the small mirror, which was ideal for communication. Usually I remained at the other side of the wall as I knew about my menacing appearance. But this time I had wanted to be menacing. So I had entered the room through the secret door I had added a few months ago. And it had worked. In the future the maid would think twice about keeping information from me.

The longer I gazed at the chaos I had produced, the angrier I became. I had calmed down slightly for Jacqueline´s sake. After all, I had only intended to intimidate her, and not to harm her physically. But now the fury was boiling in my veins again. How could Christine have had the audacity to call me a monster? She had been one of the few people who had treated me like a person. Only a few weeks ago she had told her children that she liked me. Apparently that was no longer true. Maybe it had never been true.

My hands clenched into fists as I felt the overwhelming urge to destroy, to hurt… to kill. So I was nothing but a monster. Well, in this case it was about time that my precious Countess learned what this monster was capable of.


	22. Chapter TwentyTwo

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**September 7th 1892: **_Christine_

Meg remained silent long after I had stopped speaking. I had spent the first thirty minutes of my visit telling her everything about my son´s teacher and the little one´s peculiar behaviour. Apart from his fear of sunlight he developed an almost obsessive love of the night. More than once I had caught him wandering around in the darkness or gazing longingly at the moon. I had always sent him to bed immediately, but his tired face in the morning had been a clear sign that he hadn´t slept.

After a while Meg cleared her throat and asked: "Why don´t you simply lock the door or make one of the maids sleep in Philippe´s room?". I had never quite realised how much of her mother´s rationality she had inherited. Her question would have been a good one in a normal situation. Unfortunately this situation was far from normal. "I´ve tried all that.", I replied. "But it didn´t work. I found the maid fast asleep in the morning, whereas he was awake. And one night…" I cast a brief glance over my shoulder to make sure my friend had really sent the servant away before going on: "…I heard him walk down the corridor. Yet when I got up no one was there. Of course I checked Philippe´s room… and the door was still locked! How did he manage to get out without opening it?".

We looked at each other and shivered, despite the afternoon sunshine coming through the large windows of the dressing room. Meg seemed to be nearly as confused as I was, which made me feel terrible. Maybe I had said too much. "What lovely curtains you have!", I exclaimed with a forced smile. "Have you bought them recently?" Yet my friend didn´t go along with my attempt to distract her. "Erik must have taught him.", she muttered. Suddenly seizing my hand she went on: "Oh Christine, you have to talk to him! God knows what else he´ll show him!".

I nodded slowly, having arrived at the same conclusion. "But those aren´t topics I can discuss with him over a cup of tea.", I argued. "He´d simply lie and tell me that I must have imaged things." "Then you have to…" Meg interrupted herself and looked around in the room, apparently searching for a good idea. Her gaze stopped at the clock on the mantelpiece.

"How long will Philippe stay with Erik today?", she wanted to know. "Till five.", I answered, wondering why on earth that was important. "Now it´s only half past two.", Meg informed me. "If you went to the opera and sneaked down to his lair, you could perhaps catch him doing something bad. Even he couldn´t deny it if he´s just showing the boy how to pick a lock. You´d have proof!"

Meg seemed to be rather enthusiastic about her idea, and I began to like it as well. "That could actually work.", I whispered. "Of course it´ll work.", she said with a gentle smile, patting my hand reassuringly. "I´m sure you´ll be able to talk Erik into teaching your child only decent things. He can be a… well, a sensible man." Though her last sentence hadn´t been very convincing, I decided to leave at once. After all, it was not as if I had come up with a better plan.

The coach was ready barely five minutes later. My friend, who had accompanied me out of the house to bid me farewell, eyed the coachman with fascination. "Since when do you have _him_?", she asked in a low voice. It sounded much more interested than my question about the curtains. I could understand her excitement, though. Gabriel was young, blond and very good-looking.

"That´s quite a funny story, actually.", I said, making the decision that my departure could wait for a little while. "I´m certain you still remember the coachman we had before, the old, surly one. And you also know our cook, don´t you? The elderly woman with the wart on her nose, the only person in our house who never smiled?" Meg nodded, her eyes shining with eagerness. Though she was no longer a common ballet rat, she could still sense good gossip.

Pleased by her sincere interest I went on: "It seems that the two of them were in love for almost a year. We never noticed anything, but when I entered the kitchen in the morning three days ago I found a letter saying they had left to get married and would look for work in Normandy afterwards. The cook´s family lives there, you know.". "So they´ve simply eloped? That´s so romantic." She gave a little sigh. I could only agree with her. The knowledge that even those two people had found someone to love was strangely comforting.

"We had to hire Gabriel then.", I added, although this fact was rather obvious. "Raoul would have preferred a person with more work experience, but he was the only one we could find this quickly. So Raoul had to accept him. The alternative would have been walking to every meeting. Fortunately finding a new cook was much easier. We had one within hours." "I hope she´s not young and pretty.", Meg remarked with a slight laugh. "Otherwise you´ll have the next elopement soon." "She´s married.", I assured her. "So there´s-" "Madame!", the coachman called. "Didn´t you say something about leaving early?" "Of course!", I exclaimed. For a moment I had completely forgotten about my plans. "Goodbye Meg!" "Goodbye Christine! And good luck!" We shared a brief embrace, then I climbed into the coach and it departed.

The journey back was shorter than usual. It was true that Gabriel didn´t have a lot of experience, but he knew how to drive a coach. It wasn´t even a quarter to four when we reached the opera and I hurried inside. Fortunately no one saw me. I made my way down to Erik´s underground world slowly and cautiously, yet it seemed that the traps that could have been found in every corridor ten years ago were no longer working. Or maybe Erik didn´t need them anymore because nobody knew this way to the lair existed. The latter option was more likely.

Yet whichever was the correct one, it helped me proceed more quickly. Soon I stood at the door of Erik´s home. Before I could decide whether to knock or simply walk in the door was opened and the teacher himself appeared. The corners of his mouth twitched, but the result resembled a smirk far more than a smile. "Madame de Chagny!", he greeted me with an exaggerated bow. "What a pleasure to have you as a guest in my humble abode!"

I glanced at him with barely hidden surprise. Since when did Erik talk to me like that? "Erm… good day!", I muttered uneasily. "I´m here a little early…" "But no, Madame!", he assured me. "That is absolutely no problem. Philippe and I are almost finished anyway. Why don´t you come in and join us?" He took a step backwards, and I entered the house. "Thank you…", I mumbled, staring at the floor.

Following Erik down the corridor I silently cursed myself for behaving like the shy ingénue I had once been. Hadn´t I planned to surprise him doing something terrible? Now he had surprised me. How could he have known I was coming? Could he control everything that was going on in the opera at the same time as he taught my son? I came to the conclusion that he probably could, and it scared me slightly.

Finally we arrived at the end of the corridor, at the door behind which was Erik´s study. I had never been allowed to go into that room, and I was fairly certain that I still didn´t want to do it. Yet he had already opened the door, and given the fact that Philippe seemed to be in there I didn´t have a choice. After all, I wanted to find out what happened in those lessons.

"Maman!", my child greeted me, but I missed his usual enthusiasm. He was standing right in front of me in the dimly lit room, but made no attempt to do as much as touch me. It was so dark that I couldn´t make out the opposite wall. ´It´s no wonder that he isn´t used to being in the sun anymore.´, I thought. When he glanced up at me I saw an unnatural sparkle in his eyes, but dismissed it as a trick of the candle light. "What are you talking about at the moment?", I asked. The only thing I could be sure of was that it wasn´t reading. That wouldn´t have been possible in the semi-darkness.

Erik walked up to Philippe and placed his large bony hands on the boy´s shoulders. "We´re discussing the anatomy of human beings.", he replied conversationally. "Especially the differences between men and women…" "Are you certain that is… appropriate at such an early age?", I muttered cautiously. "You´re not… showing him pictures or anything like that, are you?" He shook his head. "Quite the contrary, Madame.", he said silkily. "Quite the contrary…" With these words he stepped aside, pulling my son with him. Now I could see that they had stood in front of a table. And on the table lay… My breath caught in my throat. On the table lay two dead bodies, one male and one female.


	23. Chapter TwentyThree

**Author´s note:** There´s quite bit of talking about corpses in this chapter and also a little about sex. I hope you don´t mind either of it.

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**September 7th 1892: **_Christine_

I tried desperately to look at anything but the two corpses, but for some reason I was unable of turning my head. I was sure that the picture would be burned into my mind for all times: The persons´ heads were covered with pieces of white cloth, but the rest was naked and ready to be stared at. I noticed a faint sweetish smell, and a wave of nausea washed over me. Frantically I pressed my hand over my mouth to keep me from throwing up. Fortunately my stomach was almost empty.

"You… killed two people, just because you needed illustrative material?", I asked in a whisper, taking my hand away, so that he could understand me. The thought made me feel even sicker than before. "They are not dead, Maman.", I heard my son say. "They´re just in a very deep sleep, aren´t they, Uncle Erik?" "Of course.", he replied. He still was an excellent liar. Finally I summoned up all my strength and diverted my gaze from the bodies. "Philippe, leave us alone for a moment, please!", I ordered, and he walked out of the room without a word of protest. Like every child he knew when it was better to go.

When I turned my head to face Erik I realised that it was just as difficult to look at him as it had been to look at the corpses. "A deep sleep, eh?", I spat. Before I knew what I was doing I had raised my hand and slapped him in the face. He didn´t even blink. The smirk which he wore grew wider. "It seems that the shock makes my dear Countess forget her manners.", he stated, clicking his tongue. "Or was it the pleasure of seeing two such fine specimens of the human race?"

He walked over to the male body, which was closer to him, and ran his fingers over the pale skin of his stomach. To my horror I noticed several wounds all over his arms, as if he had been stabbed with a knife. Though I hadn´t uttered a question, Erik began to talk: "I wanted to show Philippe something special for the start of our anatomy lessons. So I got these two. Aren´t they great?".

"Great? Something special?", I repeated incredulously, glaring at him. "I didn´t have a choice.", he called. "He has to study the human body in all details. The alternative would have been to undress myself and hire a prostitute for the female parts. Would you have liked that any better?" I could only shake my head. It was obvious that Erik´s very own kind of logic hadn´t changed a bit over the years. For the first time in days I thought that perhaps I had been right in calling him ´not normal´.

By now he had reached the woman. Almost lovingly he let his hand wander over her chest. The intimacy of the gesture made me shudder. "To your information: I didn´t murder them.", he said quietly. "I merely found them in the street last night. Thieves must have killed them because they didn´t hand over their money. It was quite a touching picture: He lay on top of her, as if he had tried to protect her. That´s why she has to few wounds, see? Yet that one here at the throat was enough to kill her, and the one on his back did the same to him. Their clothes were soaked with blood. Very good clothes, by the way. They looked as if they had come from a wedding. I hope it was not their own…" He chuckled softly.

It was that sound, in combination with his last sentences, which woke me up from the stupor I had fallen into during his lecture. That state had kept me from running away or attacking Erik again, at least until after his explanations. Yet now a terrible suspicion was creeping up my spine. _A wedding?_ Slowly, very slowly I moved to the table and lifted the cloth covering the woman´s face. A wart on her nose was the last thing I saw before the world became blurred. I heard a bloodcurdling scream and sensed that it must have come from me. Then I no longer felt anything.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………...

"Drink this. It´ll help you." Something cold and hard was pressed against my face, and when I parted my lips a large amount of water invaded my mouth. My throat was very dry, so I swallowed greedily. The improvement was instant: The room came into focus again, and I realised that I was not in the study anymore, but in the living room. Erik was sitting next to me on the sofa. I prepared myself for another snide remark, yet he only glanced at me in concern.

When I opened my mouth to speak he lifted the glass again and forced down some more water. He didn´t stop until there was nothing to drink left. "What was the matter with you in there, child?", he asked. "You seemed to be so interested at first. Why did you pass out all of a sudden?" A very unfriendly comment was on the tip of my tongue, yet somehow I didn´t feel like arguing anymore. After all, Erik had carried me over here and cared for me. So I merely replied: "Those people… they are… they were my cook and my coachman. They left my household a few days ago because they wanted to marry. I guess they must have been killed on the way to their honeymoon.".

He nodded and gave me a gentle smile. "In this case it was good that Philippe didn´t see their heads.", he remarked. "I doubt he recognised them. He was very calm, fascinated by what I was showing him. Of course I´ll do the dissection after he´s gone. That´s something he really is too young for. Maybe I´ll keep some organs for the lessons on diseases I´ve planned. Judging by the state of his eyes your coachman had a serious problem with his liver. Was he drinking?"

"Yes, he was.", I answered. Somehow the thought of Erik showing my son organs didn´t bother me at all. "Raoul always said that his fondness of alcohol would get him into an early grave. Well, that was wrong, wasn´t it? Drinking didn´t kill him, but some horrible muggers." Suddenly I was overwhelmed by a wave of sympathy for the dead man. For once my husband hadn´t been right. In fact, I hoped the coachman had drunk a lot before he had died. It had probably been one of the few pleasured of his existence.

But what was about the other pleasures of life? I was especially concerned about that certain pleasure only husband and wife were allowed to share. What if the coachman had never experienced it? The question was so prominent in my head that I simply had to utter it. "What do you think, Erik? Did they have the chance to sleep with each other before they were murdered?"

I couldn´t recall that I had ever witnessed my former teach blush, but now I could clearly see it on the part of his face that wasn´t covered by the mask. "W-what?", he stammered. "I´m afraid… afraid I don´t understand… Why are you asking me such a question?" "You´re the only one here.", I replied, shrugging. "I was just thinking about it, you know. It´s such a wonderful activity… so pleasant… so satisfying…"

Erik cleared his throat. "Christine… I´m sure that actually you don´t want to speak about all this.", he muttered, throwing me an almost pleading glance. "So why don´t we just change the subject?" My mind seemed to work a little more slowly than usual today, but finally I understood. "Oh, I´m sorry!", I exclaimed. "I forgot that you´ve never done it… or have you?" "No, I haven´t. Can we _please _change the subject now?", he asked again. He sounded a bit irritated.

"Don´t you miss it?", I wanted to know softly, looking into his eyes. Just a few minutes before I had pitied the coachman, yet now I realised that Erik´s fate was much worse. The only women he had ever touched had been dead! But then, I had the power to change that fact. Quickly I seized his hand and brought it to my cheek. "Do you feel how warm my skin is?", I whispered. "Take off those stupid gloves, then you can touch me a little more…"

He shook his head frantically. "You don´t want all this.", he told me in a strained voice. "It´s just the… Let me go, and I´ll get you… something different to drink." "But I don´t want anything to drink.", I protested. "I want you!" The frankness of my words surprised me, yet at the same time I knew they were true. My whole body was tingling with the desire to be touched. Since my statement seemed to have paralysed Erik I had to make the first move. I crawled onto his lap and sat down, straddling him. "Christine, please… don´t do this to me!", he whispered. "Shhh! Don´t be afraid.", I gave back. "We´ll have so much fun…" Then I leaned forwards to kiss him.


	24. Chapter TwentyFour

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**September 7th 1892: **_Erik_

How had I gotten myself into this situation? Why hadn´t I stopped Christine once the first signs of an unusual behaviour had been apparent? Now I could only stare at her and let her do what she wanted. A part of my mind was shouting at me to push her aside when she kissed me, but at the same time another part was too busy enjoying it to listen to reason.

It felt incredibly good. There was a certain underlying passion which hadn´t been there the last time we had kissed. She nudged my lips with her tongue, and I parted them readily. Her hands were roaming over my back, and her body pressed against mine in a very pleasant way. How could I stop something that wonderful? Moreover, I told myself that I deserved a bit of happiness. I had received so little of it in my life.

Yet then I looked into her eyes, and everything changed. Her pupils were large, much larger than usual. It was a very useful reminder. All this wasn´t real. I could delude myself by saying that she truly wanted this, but in fact she didn´t. She probably had no idea of what she was doing or what the consequences might be. I gave a soundless sigh, seized her by the shoulders and pushed her away gently.

I had intended to break the physical contact to her as soon as possible. It would have made things easier for both of us. But I hadn´t expected her to react that strongly. The moment I let go of her she tried to kiss me again. In the end I had to hold her at arm´s length to keep her away from me. "What´s wrong with you?", she asked, her breathing laboured from struggling to break free. "Why can´t we go on? I liked it so much…"

"No, you didn´t.", I said matter-of-factly. The time for the truth had come. "There wasn´t only water in the glass I gave you earlier.", I told her in a flat voice, looking at anything but her. "It was mixed with a liquid I´ve invented myself to make people calm down. You know, most sedatives have the disadvantage that they cause fast exhaustion and a general feeling of tiredness. But of course I didn´t want Philippe to fall asleep while we studied corpses. So I changed some of the ingredients, and it worked very well… at least for the boy. I also tried it myself a few days ago, and there haven´t been any problems. But with you… it has to be something in the female body that made you react that differently. I mean, it was supposed to make you calm and less sensitive towards the sight of the bodies in my study, but this change of your… erm, libido wasn´t planned. I swear it."

I glanced at her nervously. She had to understand it, she simply had to! "So there will be no more kissing?", she wanted to know in a small voice. I groaned, wondering how much of my explanation had actually found its way into her mind. "No, Christine.", I replied patiently. "No more kissing." Her bottom lip started trembling. "Why not?", she asked. "Didn´t you like it?"

Now I had the answer to my question: Christine hadn´t understood a word of what I had said. My little speech had probably vanished somewhere in the depths of her head and would only re-appear when she´d be able to think straight again. In the meantime I had to find a more suitable explanation. "Of course I liked it.", I answered, thinking that it was the biggest understatement I had ever uttered. "It´s just that… we´re not married. And only husband and wife are allowed to kiss." Inwardly I congratulated myself for this good idea. Maybe she´d at least remember the basic moral standards she had been taught since her childhood.

She nodded slowly; I could almost see her mind trying to draw connections to our present situation. "But I am married!", she suddenly called. "To Raoul!" "That´s right.", I said, glad that the liquid I had given her hadn´t also caused amnesia. It seemed that her normal thoughts had merely been pushed to the edges of her mind. If the person affected hadn´t been the woman I loved, I´d have been fascinated. Yet at the moment I was just feeling guilty.

"I want to go to him.", she decided, jumping up from my lap so quickly that I almost let go of her. At the last second I could hold her back by taking her hand. "That´s impossible.", I told her. "He´s… not home yet." In fact I had no idea where her husband was and couldn´t have cared less. All I knew was that I couldn´t simply let her leave in the state she was in. What if she forgot the ´husband and wife only´ rule on the way back and tried to kiss some person in the street? I had to keep her here till she behaved like a normal adult again. Frantically I searched for something harmless she could do.

My problem was solved when the door was opened and Philippe peered inside. "How much longer will I have stay in Maman´s old room?", he asked. "It´s so boring there." "Come in, come in!", I exclaimed with an encouraging nod. "Wouldn´t you like to show your Maman how well you can read already?" "Oh yes!" He entered the room quickly and sat down on the sofa. His mother greeted him with a loving smile and settled down again as well. I handed the boy a book with many stories and pictures and told him: "I´ve got some things to tidy up in my study. Just read to her till I´m back. And make sure that both of you drink enough!". Gesturing at a water jug and several glasses on the table I stood up and practically fled from the room. I couldn´t have endured her presence for another second.

It was not until I reached my study and closed the door behind me that I could breathe freely again. Christine in her innocence had no idea what a temptation she had been for me. I could still feel her on my lips and in my mouth. It had been so fantastic… and yet so wrong. Fortunately I had pulled myself together and kept her from going on. Even a few moments of perfect bliss were not desirable if the consequence was a lifetime of guilt. That was a price too high for me to pay.

Yet it wasn´t the past, but the future that troubled me most. What would Christine say once the effects had worn off? "Will she ever forgive me?", I muttered, making my way to the woman´s body automatically. Although her eyes were closed, I had the impression that she was watching me, judging me. "I guess you never had such problems with him.", I went on, pointing at the man. "You just married him and thought you´d be happy… and then you died, before the difficulties could start." Comparing to what I´d face soon it sounded like a good fate.

I shook my head, realising that I had actually been talking to a corpse. There were moments in which I questioned my own sanity. But then, who else should I have talked to? Since I didn´t know what to do in the remaining time till my guest would be sober enough to leave, I decided that I could as well begin the dissection of the coachman. We had finished studying his body, so we didn´t need him anymore.

When I turned away from the table and opened the cupboard containing all the equipment my gaze fell on a small bottle on the top shelf. Its dark blue contents could actually be the solution to my problem. Two or three drops of the sweetish liquid in a cup of tea would make Christine forget everything that had happened in the last hours. It would be so easy.

My fingers closed around the bottle, lifted it from the shelf… and put it back. I couldn´t do this to her. I couldn´t rob her of her memory without as much as a word of warning. Of course it would have been easier, but sometimes even I had to cope with the consequences of my actions. So instead of starting the dissection I sat down at my desk and wrote a letter.

By the time the final version was finished almost an hour had passed. I folded the sheet of paper carefully and put it into an envelope. With the letter in my hand I went back to the living room. The door wasn´t closed, and when I looked inside I saw Christine and her son sitting on the sofa, exactly as I had left them. Both seemed to be slightly exhausted. "I´ve read the whole book.", Philippe told me proudly. "That´s wonderful.", I said, giving him a faint smile.

Cautiously I glanced at his mother, but she was dozing with her eyes open. It was obvious that she didn´t feel like kissing anymore. "It´s time to go.", I announced. "Your coach surely is already waiting for you. I´ll take you to the surface." They nodded, and we left the house as soon as the boy had found his belongings. The way with the two tired persons was very long. If I had been able to do so, I´d have carried them.

"When will we start tomorrow?", the child asked eagerly when we reached the exit. "I don´t know.", I muttered uneasily. I handed my letter to Christine, who hadn´t said a word yet. "Read this once you´re home and think about it.", I told her urgently. "And then… you know where to find me." She nodded weakly and stuffed it into her handbag. I pulled open the door and saw the coach in the street. "Goodbye, Uncle Erik!", Philippe called, walking out of the opera at his mother´s hand. "Goodbye Philippe!", I whispered. "Farewell Christine…"


	25. Chapter TwentyFive

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**September 8th 1892: **_Christine_

I only had a vague recollection of how I had spent the rest of the day. By the time Philippe and I had come home dinner had already been on the table. We had eaten in silence, then I had sent the boy to bed. The fact that he hadn´t tried to argue had been a sign of his utter exhaustion. It had been barely seven o´clock when I had gone to bed myself, feeling as if I had done hard physical work all day. Jacqueline had thrown me a couple of worried glances, but at least she hadn´t asked question and had also held Antoinette back. Fortunately it hadn´t been one of the rare evenings when Raoul was home early.

Yet now he was there. I could feel him next to me in our bed. His chest was pressing against my back as we lay on our sides, and his arm was wrapped protectively around my waist. It was our favourite position of sleeping and made me feel incredibly close to him. But his presence wasn´t the reason for me waking up. It hadn´t been a nightmare either, though I occasionally still had them.

No, the reason why my eyes snapped open and I lay in the dark, panting as if I had just run a mile, was that I suddenly remembered everything that had happened this afternoon. All the scenes, every little detail, appeared in my head at once, struggling for space: two bodies on a table… a passionate kiss… a wart.. Erik´s smirk… water running down my throat… my son with a book… my hands wandering over Erik´s back… The garishly bright images were tumbling over each other, sometimes moving slowly enough to observe them carefully, then speeding up again. It made me feel slightly dizzy, and I had to close my eyes.

A moment later the voices started echoing through my head: "Once upon a time there was" … "I swear." … "It seems that the shock makes my dear countess forget her manners." … "They are not dead, Maman." … "I forgot that you´ve never done it… or have you?" … "No, I haven´t." … "I want you." … "I want you." … "I WANT YOU!". The last sentence had been so loud in my mind that I was afraid it could have woken up my husband, but he didn´t budge.

I had told Erik that I wanted him. The realisation hit me like a blow with a hammer, and I inhaled sharply as the voices gave way to questions: What would Erik think of me now? Would he dismiss it as a side effect of his stupid sedative? Or would he assume that I had truly meant it? Merely recalling how I had acted made me blush. I had behaved like a bitch on heat. I had touched and kissed his shamelessly, and if he hadn´t made me stop… Hastily I forbade myself to finish the thought.

With a little sigh I turned around and opened my eyes to face Raoul. When he was sleeping he didn´t look much older than Philippe. His boyish features were soft, and I couldn´t help running my finger over his cheek. Now he did stir. "Christine?", he mumbled, blinking. "Is something wrong?" "No, no.", I assured him, petting his hair the way I did it with our son when he had a nightmare. "I just need to go to the bathroom. Go back to sleep, will you?" He nodded slightly, his eyes already closed again. "I love you…", he breathed. "I love you, too…", I gave back. I pressed a kiss to his forehead and got up as quietly as possible, trying not to disturb him a second time.

I hadn´t really intended to go to the bathroom, but now that I had said so I could as well do it. Tiptoeing around the bed I stumbled over something lying on the floor. When I picked it up I realised that it was my handbag and took it with me. There was no reason for this action; I simply had the feeling that it was the right thing to do. With my other hand I grabbed a candlestick, lighting the candle as soon as I was out of the room.

Quickly I marched down the corridor. It was perfectly quiet, so quiet that it was almost creepy. I was glad when I reached the bathroom. As I placed the handbag and the candlestick on the little table next to the washbasin I wondered why I had brought the former with me. It had been like a strange urge… then everything fell into place. Erik´s letter! I found it almost immediately. The envelope was slightly crumpled, but at least I hadn´t torn it in my carelessness. Cautiously I smoothed it out. Then I opened it.

_My dear Christine,_

_by the time you read this letter you´ve probably come to your senses. I hope that both your physical and your mental state are back to normal and you remember what has been going on. _

_Firstly I apologise for having exposed you to the sight of dead bodies in general and your cook and coachman in particular. The latter was a tragic coincidence, still I feel responsible for it in a way._

_But most of all I have to apologise for what I´ve done to you afterwards. I shouldn´t have given you my sedative without having made sure it was harmless, but I can only repeat that the effect it had on you wasn´t intended. Even I wouldn´t sink that low to drug you, just because I want to know what it´s like to experience physical affection… or any affection at all._

_Your kisses and your touches meant everything to me. However, I´m not too blinded by love to see that it was wrong of me to receive them. I know I should have stopped you sooner, but I couldn´t. I am weak, Christine, even though you possibly still believe the opposite. I apologise for everything that has happened between us and hope that your husband´s loving caresses will erase the memories sooner or later. I, on the other hand, will lock them away in a special corner of my heart, so that I can take them out when my life become too dark to bear._

_You probably wonder how you´ll ever be able to look at me again without feeling the urge to kill me. The answer is very simple: You´ll never have to look at me again. Philippe knows the way down to my lair by now, so that I don´t have to fetch him. There´s no need to be worried about traps either. I can switch them on and off from my home; they won´t be on when the boy is on his way. I´ll also make sure that he gets to the coach in the afternoon. _

_Of course I could understand it if you didn´t want him to come close to me again. But I can assure you that your son will never be harmed. I like him far too much to let anything happen to him. Besides, he is my heir. I don´t know how much time I have left till Hell will devour me, but I sense it will be soon._

_Still I want you to take your time thinking about everything. You can send Philippe to me whenever you please: tomorrow, in a few days, next week – I´ll be there. Just tell him to regard it as a little holiday, so that he won´t get worried. He´s such a sensitive boy._

_After all the lies I´ve told you over the years I don´t expect you to trust that my apologies are sincere and to accept them. But if you do, you´d make me very happy… even though a monster like me doesn´t deserve happiness, of course. Yes, I know what you said about me, and I don´t blame you. You were right. I am a monster… but a monster who loves you with every bit of his heart._

_Erik_

I read the letter once, twice, then a third time. Yet still a lot of things didn´t make any sense. I couldn´t tell whether it was because I was tired or because Erik had been confused while writing it. Probably both assumptions were correct. All I knew at the moment was that even though I wanted to think about the letter, I was growing sleepier by the second. Given the fact that it was the middle of the night that wasn´t surprising.

Realising that the candle had almost burnt down completely anyway I made my way back to the bedroom. Raoul was lying on his back now, his long arms spread out over most of the pillows. I pushed him aside a little, so that I could crawl under the blanket with being tangled in his limbs. Somehow I couldn´t bear physical contact now, neither with my husband nor with anyone else. However, I was grateful for his soft snoring. It made the quiet and the darkness slightly less oppressive.


	26. Chapter TwentySix

**Author´s note: **We´ve reached 100 reviews. That´s making me so happy. Thank you very much!

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**September 8th 1892: **_Philippe_

I liked breakfast. It was my favourite meal, except on the days when we had strawberry cake for tea. But that didn´t happy too often. So I liked breakfast best most of the time. The main reason for this was that both Maman and Papa were present at the table, unlike the other meals, when Papa usually wasn´t there. I especially enjoyed talking to them about what we´d do at the weekends or the holidays.

Yet today everything was different. Jacqueline, Antoinette and I were already sitting at the table, but my parents weren´t there. "We´ll have to start without them.", Jacqueline decided after we had waited for a very long time, at least five minutes. "It´s already half past seven, and you have to be at Mme.Tadoux´s house in less than an hour´s time." My sister nodded and began to spread butter onto a slice of bread.

Handing her the jar with the honey Jacqueline wanted to know: "And when does your teacher expect you to come to him today, Philippe?". I had never understood why she didn´t simply called Uncle Erik by his name. Once I had asked her, but she had only replied it wouldn´t be ´proper´. One day I´d have to find out what was so improper about his name. It had to be something serious for I wasn´t allowed to use it in front of Papa either, just like the funny words I had learned from our coachman. The only difference was that Maman had forbidden me to use them in front of anyone, whereas I could at least talk about Uncle Erik to her or our maid.

"I´m not sure.", I admitted. "Uncle Erik gave Maman a letter and said that she should read it and think about it before sending me to him again." "He probably wrote that you´re a lousy pupil and he doesn´t want to teach you anymore.", Antoinette interjected, although her mouth was still full of bread. "That´s not true!", I cried. "Jacqueline, make her stop telling lies!" "Of course it´s true!", my sister shouted. "I bet you haven´t even read the letter yourself… because you can´t read at all! You baby!"

I noticed that my eyes were welling up with tears. It was so unfair. I had never begged for having an obnoxious older sister, had I? She didn´t even know Uncle Erik. He was much too nice to write such mean things about me. Besides, I could read. Honestly. I had just opened my mouth to tell her that when Jacqueline called: "Stop it! Both of you! Or would you rather finish your breakfast in your bedrooms? I won´t – ".

Now she was interrupted herself, by angry voices echoing through the corridor. "Oh Christine… don´t act as if I had tried to force you to something! All I wanted was a little kiss…" "Of course – a kiss! And that thing pressing against my thigh was a candle you had taken to bed with you!" Both Antoinette and I looked at Jacqueline, who for some reason had turned bright red in the face. Our argument was forgotten as my sister asked: "Why should Papa have taken a candle to bed with him?". "Well, I… I don´t know. Just ask him yourself!", the maid muttered, now fighting back giggles. Sometimes adults were very hard to understand.

The voices were coming closer to the dining room. Maman was talking again. "I just can´t do this at the moment, Raoul…" "But why not?", Papa called. "We hardly see each other. Can´t I expect you to be a little more affectionate at the rare occasions when I´m home?" "Yes… yes…", Maman said. She sounded as if she was about to give in. "I´m sorry…" "No, I´m sorry. I shouldn´t have pressed you…"

When they entered the room just a few moments later my parents were best friends again. They were even holding hands, which I thought was completely pointless. How could they eat like that? "Good morning!", they said in extremely cheerful voices, sitting down opposite my sister and me. "Have you had an argument?", Antoinette wanted to know immediately. She was the most curious girl I had ever met. They exchanged a brief glance, then shook their heads. "We were just talking.", Maman explained. "No, you were shouting.", I corrected her. There was a huge difference between the two things, and Uncle Erik had taught me to pay attention to the words I used.

"Sometimes people shout without meaning to do so.", Jacqueline hastened to say. "And still they love each other. Antoinette and you were shouting as well just a short while ago, and you don´t hate each other now, do you?" Reluctantly we shook our heads. My sister could be quite mean, but most of the time she was nice. "So let´s not speak about it anymore!", Papa exclaimed. "I just want a quiet breakfast." With these words he reached for the coffeepot and poured a bit of the beverage into two cups.

It was indeed a very quiet breakfast. Not even Antoinette seemed to feel like talking anymore. I chewed on my croissant, but it didn´t taste as good as it usually did. Besides, I still had no idea whether I would go to Uncle Erik today and I couldn´t ask Maman as long as Papa was there as well. So I ate more and more slowly, knowing that he always was in a hurry and would leave soon.

My plan worked. Not even five minutes after he had settled down Papa stood up again. "I have to go.", he said, though that intention was quite obvious. Hastily he emptied his cup. "George expects me to meet him at nice. I don´t know when I´ll be back. Goodbye!" He walked around the table, kissing everyone but Jacqueline… and Maman, who had to lean down and pick up her knife, that had fallen down a moment earlier. Then he left the room.

It might sound strange, but Maman seemed to be far more relaxed now. "We have to hurry as well.", she announced. "I have an appointment with my seamstress, so I´ll take you, Antoinette, to Mme.Tadoux on my way." "Oh!", Jacqueline suddenly made. "I´ve almost forgotten it. Her teacher sent a message this morning. She´s not feeling good. Antoinette can´t go to her until tomorrow." Maman thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "She can stay here. If she accompanied me, she´d only grow bored."

"But what about me?", I called, feeling left out. Why were they always talking about my sister? "When will you take me to Uncle Erik?" I could have sworn that my question made her blush slightly. "You see, Philippe… Uncle Erik is… well, he´s sick as well.", she replied. "He doesn´t know yet when he´ll be fine again. Till then you´ll have to remain at home." "Was that why he acted that strangely yesterday?", I wanted to know. "First he was all unfriendly to you, and later he hardly dared look at you…" "Yes, that was the reason.", she assured me. "And what was written in that letter?", I went on. "That´s none of your business!", Maman snapped. I shrunk back a little and didn´t say anything.

Taking a sip of coffee she concluded in a perfectly normal voice: "So the children will be with you this morning, Jacqueline. Is that all right with you?". "Of cou- No!", the maid called. "I won´t be here till noon, Madame. I´ll meet my sister. It´s her first day off for months…" The pleading glance she threw Maman reminded me of a stray dog I had once fed in the street. It seemed to have a similar effect for Maman gave a small sigh and said: "All right then. In this case the children will have to be alone for a while." "Oh, they won´t be alone.", Jacqueline muttered. "They can always go to Jacques or the new cook if they need something."

So Antoinette and I stayed behind while the others left the house. I felt a tingle of excitement in my belly. It rarely happened that we were anywhere without an adult to keep us company. "What will we do now?", I asked. I expected my sister to suggest playing in the garden because that was what she liked best. But she seemed to have other plans. "I want to know why Maman is behaving that oddly. Arguing with Papa, hissing at you… it´s not like her.", she stated. "And there´s just one way of finding out: We have to read that letter your teacher wrote!" The tingling grew stronger. Sometimes having an older sister was very exciting.


	27. Chapter TwentySeven

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

**September 8th 1892: **_Philippe_

Looking around everywhere for the letter was very easy. The cook was cleaning pots and pans in the kitchen, and Jacques was nowhere in sight. So nobody paid attention to what we were doing. Still we sneaked around on tiptoe and talked in whispers. It made everything even more exciting. "We have to find Maman´s handbag.", I told Antoinette as we walked through the corridor. "That´s where she put the letter." "That doesn´t mean anything.", she gave back. "She can have taken it out in the meantime."

Yet since the place where all the coats and bags were kept was quite close anyway, we ended up checking it first. My sister grew terribly cheerful when we could spot neither a handbag nor a letter. "See?", she said. "Nothing´s here. I bet it´s in the bedroom." I knew one couldn´t argue with her when she was that certain of something, so I didn´t even try it and we made our way up the stairs. Antoinette was so fast that I couldn´t keep pace with her. "Wait!", I called, panting slightly, but of course she didn´t. She never did.

By the time I reached the top of the stairs she was gone. With all the doors closed the corridor was very dark, and the excitement gave way to an unpleasant feeling: fear. It was one thing to be in the dark with Uncle Erik, who was big and strong and could protect me. But being here all alone was entirely different. There were at least ten doors on either side, and they all looked the same. Of course I usually knew where my parents´ bedroom was, yet at the moment I couldn´t remember it. This huge fear inside me didn´t leave enough space for anything else.

"Antoinette?", I called, my voice shaking. "Where are you? It´s not funny…" There was no reply. Nobody answered, and none of the doors opened. This was too much for me. I sank down on the soft carpet and started crying. "Where are you?", I wailed. "Come out… please!" After a few moments I heard footsteps rushing up the stairs. Then a female voice asked: "Philippe? Are you up here?", and Larisse, our new cook, appeared.

Maman had often told me stories about angels rescuing people in danger or visiting them when they were sad. Larisse was such an angel now. When she spotted me on the floor she smiled all over her round face. "What are you doing here all alone?", she wanted to know. I tried to reply, but all that came out of my mouth were sobs. Quickly she kneeled down next to me and pulled me into a hug. Usually I didn´t like it when anyone except my mother did this, yet now I snuggled up to Larisse closely.

"Antoinette… she…", I mumbled. The cook understood me at once. "So she´s here as well.", she said. "Antoinette? Where are you, child?" And suddenly a door opened and my sister emerged, smiling as if nothing had happened. "What have you done in your parents´ bedroom?", Larisse asked sternly. "I was just looking for the parasol because we want to play in the garden, but it wasn´t there.", Antoinette lied. She didn´t even blush.

Larisse shook her head, frowning. "I don´t think I´ll have to tell your mother about it.", she decided. "But you shouldn´t stay up here. Why don´t we go to the kitchen and I´ll check whether we have any biscuits left?" My sister nodded eagerly. She was always very friendly after lying. Still I didn´t want to be with her now. Maman said that one had to tell the truth unless it could offend somebody. And surely Larisse wouldn´t have been offended, would she?

Pulling myself out of the embrace I muttered: "I don´t want any biscuits. I´ll go to my room.". The cook looked puzzled, and my sister even tugged at my sleeve. "Don´t you want to know if I have the letter?", she whispered into my ear. "No!", I gave back. "It was a stupid idea anyway." She shrugged. "Go then! Your door is the third on the right.", she added, sneering at me. Though I wouldn´t have known it without her help, I didn´t thank her. I just stood up from the floor and walked to my room.

With some difficulty I managed to shut the door before I had to cry yet again. Why was Antoinette sometimes so nice and sometimes not? I couldn´t understand her, no matter how hard I tried. And when we argued she always won. She could run more quickly than I, jump higher and talk faster. It wasn´t fair. Why couldn´t I be the older one? Then I could have laughed at her and called her ´baby´.

After a while there were no tears to cry left in my head. My cheeks were all wet, and my eyes ached. I was cowering on my bed and felt that I needed someone to talk to, someone who would understand me. Marielle had been that someone for a long time, but she was gone, and I didn´t even know why. Maman or Jacqueline could not be that someone. When I tried to talk to them they always wanted me to see things from Antoinette´s point of view as well. But sometimes I simply wanted to be angry at my sister.

"Uncle Erik!", I whispered longingly. He would have been just the right one. He always let me complain about Antoinette without saying that it wasn´t nice to talk in such a way. If Uncle Erik had been with me, she wouldn´t have been able to frighten me. He would have taken me by the hand and led me to the right room, just like he had shown me what to do so many times. Maybe Uncle Erik was another one of those angels Maman had spoken of.

I closed my eyes and wished with all my heart that he would visit me. He had done so before, so why shouldn´t it happen again today? I repeated the wish over and over in a whisper, hoping that wherever he was at the moment, he´d hear me. Sometimes wishes came true, didn´t they?

_Christine_

The appointment at the seamstress´ had been over sooner than I had expected, so I decided to walk home. It was a wonderful day, not quite as warm as it had been in the previous weeks. Still the streets weren´t very crowded, probably due to the fact that most people were at work. This was good for I didn´t feel like meeting someone and having a polite conversation anyway. There was something I still had to think about.

Erik´s letter was always on my mind. Although I had only read it a few times, it was as if every word was engraved into my very heart. He had talked about so many things, but they could all be reduced to a few important facts: He loved me and he hadn´t tried to hurt or humiliate me. He also liked Philippe and didn´t want to lose him. Parts of the letter had shocked me, yet I didn´t question that Erik meant what he had written.

The question remained what the logical conclusion was. Should I let him continue teaching my son, despite the things he had exposed the boy to? Or should I take the necessary steps and forbid any contact between them? By the time I opened the door of my home I still hadn´t found an answer. There were too many factors to consider, and they seemed to grown in number the longer I pondered about my problem.

I found Antoinette in the kitchen with our new cook. She was sitting at the table, a half-empty plate of biscuits in front of her, watching the woman scrubbing a saucepan. "Maman!", she called cheerfully. "You´re already back? Did you buy anything for me?" I shook my head. "I can´t buy something for you every time I leave the house. But the seamstress has a very pretty new fabric. If you want to, she can make you a new skirt.", I offered. "Thank you!", she said, beaming at me. "That would be great."

Larisse turned around and greeted me as well. "I didn´t know if it was all right for the girl to be here in the kitchen, but the children were playing upstairs and seemed to be bored.", she informed me. "Of course that was all right.", I assured her. From the first moment I had been sure that this woman was very thoughtful, and her words only stressed this positive character trait. Still something was strange about her statement. Looking around in the room I asked: "Where is Philippe?".

"He preferred going to his room.", my daughter replied quickly. "But why? Did the two of you have yet another argument?", I inquired, glancing at her suspiciously. I wasn´t a fool; I knew how rude Antoinette could be at times. But she shook her head defiantly. "Anyway, I´ll better go to him.", I decided. "It´s not nice to let him stay all alone up there." Besides, my chances of getting an honest answer from him were far higher than from her.

So I made my way to Philippe´s room. I knocked at the door, but when he didn´t answer I simply went inside. He was lying on the bed, and for a moment I thought he was asleep. Seeing his swollen eyes and red cheeks I felt my worst suspicion about a possible argument come true. I wanted to leave again, yet then he opened his eyes. "Maman…", he said in a dreamy whisper. "Yes, my dear?", I muttered as I sat down next to his little body.

With surprising speed he seized my hand and gripped it firmly. "You have to promise me something." I was puzzled about how serious his voice sounded. "What is it?", I asked, giving him a kind smile. "I miss Uncle Erik.", he told me. "Promise me that you allow me to meet him again whenever I want!" The smile vanished from my face. I couldn´t say a word. "Please, Maman…", Philippe begged. "Uncle Erik is my best friend, and I miss him so much…" What was I to reply? I couldn´t deny my only son something he seemed to long for… could I? No, I couldn´t. "I promise.", I said almost solemnly. Erik would have been proud of his student´s persistence.


	28. Chapter TwentyEight

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

**September 8th 1892: **_Christine_

I brought Philippe to the opera the same afternoon. After I had agreed to let him go there again he had wanted to do it as soon as possible. I hadn´t been able to deny him that wish, not as long as he cowered on his bed like the picture of misery. So I had sent a message to Erik, announcing my son´s arrival, and after drinking tea we had left.

It was much noisier in the coach that usual. The reason was the third person sitting in it, a lively nine-year-old girl. The moment Antoinette had heard where we´d be going she had insisted on coming with us. Since Jacqueline still hadn´t come back from meeting her sister, this had been the best solution. As nice as Larisse was, I wasn´t sure that she could cope with my daughter´s temper for several hours.

Neither Philippe nor I talked much, but it wasn´t necessary. Antoinette could have entire conversations all by herself, especially when she was excited. And the prospect of going to the opera at last made her very excited. "Do you think we´ll meet real dancers, Maman? And singers? And musicians? Can we also see the stage and the dressing rooms?" I merely nodded, only half-listening. My main worry was whom I might meet. Of course I had told Erik in my note that I didn´t want to see him, but I couldn´t be certain that he´d comply. When it came to Erik, I could only be certain of very few things.

My daughter´s questions accompanied our entire ride, and I was glad when we arrived and she stopped talking abruptly, gazing at the imposing building open-mouthed. I took her hand and led her to the Rue Scribe entrance, promising that she´d like the inside even more. Philippe followed us. He seemed surprised about his sister´s interest in the house. But then, he had seen it many times before. I waited till he had caught up with us. Then I said: "Don´t forget that we´ll meet again at six o´clock! Antoinette and I will be in the building the entire time, so if anything happens, you can come to us.".

"Nothing can happen to me as long as I´m with Uncle Erik.", he declared with deep conviction. I gave him a lopsided smile. There had been a time when I had thought the same. It seemed to have been ages ago. I watched Philippe open the door and went after him, still holding my daughter´s hand. He made his way to the cellars without a moment´s hesitation. It was obvious that he could find the path alone, probably better than I could have done it.

As we walked to the stage Antoinette was unusually quiet. It was an almost awed silence, and I couldn ´t help being grateful for it. The opera had that effect on most people who came here for the first time. Several minutes passed before she spoke. "Will we really watch a rehearsal, Maman?" "I guess we will.", I replied with a slight shrug. "I don´t know anything about their current timetable, but I hope we won´t arrive at the beginning of a rehearsal. They can take hours, and I´d like to have enough time to talk to Aunt Antoinette afterwards." I had come to the conclusion that Mme.Giry was the best person to help me with my problems. Meg was my friend, but she had never even met Erik. Her mother knew so much more about him.

After a few more minutes we reached one of the doors leading to the auditorium and slipped inside. I pressed my index finger against my lips, indicating that we had to be quiet. Yet my warning wouldn´t have been necessary. Even though she had never been at such a place, my daughter seemed to know exactly how to behave. I could only guess that Meg had told her about it, just in case I´d ever let her allow to come here.

I would have preferred a seat at the back, where no one would notice us, but Antoinette dragged me to the first row. Hesitantly I sat down next to her and looked up. The sights, the smells, the sounds – all that was so familiar and intense that I had to close my eyes for a moment. Oh, how I had missed the opera! Opening them again I spotted Meg standing at the left side of the stage, beaming and giving us a little wave. Her mother threw her a stern glance, but then she saw us as well and her lips curled into the tiniest of smiles. I returned it shyly.

We remained in our seats for about half an hour. The rehearsal was more or less a complete chaos. Meg as the prima ballerina was the only one who knew her exact place on the stage. Two or three chorus girls were missing entirely, so that there was a large gap in the row of dancers. Everyone became even more confused when the stagehands decided to change the scenery in the middle of the scene without as much as a warning. I could only hope that there was still very much time till the first night.

Yet the worst part was listening to the new leading soprano. Her voice was all right, but she had the annoying habit of exaggerating every gesture, every glance to the point when her performance looked more like a parody than anything else. I remembered the aria she sung very well. It was one of the pieces I had studied with Erik. My patience with that diva decreased even more when I realised I had sung it better than her.

Eventually Mme.Giry seemed to have mercy on her dancers and stopped the rehearsal, telling them to go and repeat their steps in the room reserved for practicing. While most other people left quickly Meg fetched the portable stairs, so that Antoinette and I could enter the stage from the auditorium. I was a little reluctant to do so, afraid the remaining people could ask unpleasant questions about why I hadn´t been here for such a long time. Yet it turned out that there was no reason for my worries: None of them seemed to know me. But for some reason this made me sad rather than glad. Did nobody recognise me anymore, nobody at all?

"Christine!", Meg called in a delighted voice, pulling me out of my sombre thoughts. "Oh, it´s so wonderful to see you here! How long has it been – ten years?" I nodded, embracing her briefly. Yet when I turned around to greet her mother my view was blocked by the new diva. "Christine? So you´re Christine Daaé? Veramente?", she asked, eyeing me curiously. "Actually it´s Christine Countess de Chagny now.", I corrected her coldly. I didn´t use my title too often, but sometimes it was quite useful.

It also worked now. The woman took a small step backwards and said: "Scusi, Signora! I didn´t mean to offend you… My name is Donatella Marchesi. I´m the new leading soprano of this fantastic opera house. I´ve heard so much about you. Everybody still praises your legendary talent. And then this tragedy! Is it true that-?". "I´m sorry to interrupt you, but I recall that there is someone waiting in your dressing room.", Meg interjected. At once the woman´s mouth shut and she hurried away. "It was so nice having met you!", she called over her shoulder.

"Who is waiting in her dressing room?", I asked as soon as she was out of earshot. "No one.", Meg replied pleasantly. "I just made up an excuse to get her away from you. She´s very arrogant and doesn´t talk to many people. Yet once she has started talking, you won´t escape till she´s finished with you." She rolled her eyes, and I had to laugh. In a way, the little interlude had been quite helpful. I felt less self-conscious now.

My friend smiled at me. "It´s good to hear you laugh again.", she remarked. "Why are you here?" "I brought Philippe to… to him and I wanted to stay till his return.", I explained in a low voice. "So Erik and you get alone well again? You didn´t catch him do something terrible yesterday?" "Meg, I… actually I wanted to talk to your mother about it.", I muttered cautiously. "Could you maybe keep an eye on Antoinette, so that she won´t listen to us? I´ll fill you in later."

Meg bit her lip and threw me an apologetic glance. "Oh, Christine, there´s something I´ve done…", she whispered. "I told my mother what you told me. This morning wanted to know how you were doing, and I simply couldn´t lie and say that you´re fine. Was that… all right with you?" "Of course.", I replied. I was even grateful, for it meant that I wouldn´t have to repeat the whole story. A moment late my friend was smiling again. We looked over at Antoinette, who was chatting merrily with her godmother. "Would you like me to show you around?", Meg asked. "Yes!", my daughter answered. She ran over to my friend and seized her hand. Together they left the stage. Now only Mme.Giry and I were here.

"I guess you want to discuss your problems with Erik.", she said while I was still trying to find a way to approach the subject cautiously. I nodded, a little puzzled because she had figured it out this quickly. "I thought you might come to me, with all that has happened.", Mme.Giry answered my question before I had even asked it. "Things have become even worse since I talked to Meg yesterday.", I said miserably. Then I told her about the corpses and that I had kissed Erik… again. The only part I left out was how wonderful it had felt. That was too embarrassing to put it into words.

My former ballet teacher looked at me intently for a few moments after I had stopped. It was as if she tried to take a glance at my very soul. I squirmed under her gaze. Could she somehow find out that I hadn´t told her the entire story? "What exactly is your problem?", she eventually wanted to know. I stared at her in disbelief. Hadn´t she listened at all? "The cor-", I began, only to be interrupted by her. "Let´s leave out the corpses for a while.", she said strictly. "It was a terrible mistake to show them to the boy. There´s no need for discussing that. But what else makes you worried, apart from this incident?"

I had to consider her question for a minute or two. "It´s just… I don´t like it that he´s with my son so often and has such a strong influence on him.", I replied. "Sometimes when he speaks I can almost hear Erik´s words…" Mme.Giry placed a hand on my shoulder in a rare affectionate gesture. Then she asked: "Don´t get me wrong, child, but could it be possible that you´re jealous because Philippe spends so much time with Erik and you don´t?".


	29. Chapter TwentyNine

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

**September 8th 1892: **_Christine_

"Wh-what?", I whispered. "No! Of course not! How can you accuse me of such a thing?" "Well, you hadn´t see Erik for ten years and you probably missed him. Suddenly he approached you, but apparently he was more interested in your son than in you. It is only natural that this made you jealous.", Mme.Giry argued. She watched me closely, and there was something like pity in her eyes. It annoyed me more than all she had said. No one had to pity me.

I shook my head emphatically. "Your… theory is absurd!", I called. "If I had felt the urge to see him, I´d have simply come here. After all, I hadn´t forgotten where he lives. How could I – after he had abducted me and brought me there! I could have gone to his lair anytime I pleased, but I didn´t do so because I didn´t want to meet him ever again. I was afraid of him."

Mme.Giry seized the brief moment I needed to take a breath to start speaking herself. "Do you really believe all that, Christine? Do you think he´d have welcomed you back with open arms?" I wasn´t sure what kind of reply she expected, so I only nodded. Of course Erik would have welcomed me back, just like he´d welcome me back now. He loved me. It was I who didn´t want that to happen.

"In this case you´re deluding yourself more than I thought.", she said quietly. "Let me show you something." Her hand that was still lying on my shoulder moved downwards and took mine. Then she led me away from the stage. It was very strange to hold the hand of someone who was neither my husband nor one of my children and to be led to an unknown place. I almost felt like a child myself again. We walked down at least half a dozen corridors, but didn´t meet anyone.

At last we came to a halt in front of a door, and Mme.Giry opened it. "I know this place.", I muttered. "This is where the new costumes are sewn and the old ones are kept, isn´t it?" "That´s not why we´re here.", she replied. She sounded considerably more coldly than at the beginning of our conversation. It was clear that I had made her angry, but I didn´t know what I had done.

Shyly I followed her to a corner of the room. A large wardrobe stood here, yet when she pulled open one of the doors I was surprised to see that it did not contain costumes or pieces of fabric. Instead, poster after poster hung there, each advertising a different production of the Opéra Populaire. "They´re here mainly for nostalgic reasons.", Mme.Giry informed me. "Sometimes they´re used to impress potential patrons with the variety of operas this stage has seen, but that rarely happens anymore." Walking up to me she added: "You can have a look at them if you want to.".

Sensing that it was an order rather than an offer I began to look at the posters. Quickly I left behind those of recent productions. I wondered how many years back they´d date. Would there even be some of the operas I had sung in? The question was answered just a few moments after it had entered my mind. Suddenly I spotted it: the poster of ´Don Juan Triumphant´. Yet the title was the only thing that gave it away. Black paint was smeared on the rest, making it look dirty and ugly.

"What has happened to it?", I asked in an incredulous whisper. At once I understood that this was what Mme.Giry had brought me here for. "This was the way we found it a few weeks after the first night of ´Don Juan Triumphant´.", she explained. "In addition, all costumes from that opera and the score for the musicians and singers had been burned. I guess it was supposed to warn the managers that they should never even attempt to stage it again – as if they had wanted to do that!"

I couldn´t tear my gaze from the ruined poster. It had once been so beautiful, and now… "Why do you keep it?", I wanted to know. "Surely it is not shown to the patrons, is it?" She shook her head. "We threw it away the very same day, together with the ashes.", she replied. "Yet the next morning it was back in the wardrobe. No matter how often we tried, it always came back. And after a while we stopped bothering. We accepted that Erik seemed to regard it as a reminder of the fact that he was back. The Opera Ghost was back, just when many people had started hoping he might have gone for good. Personally I don´t think he was ever gone. He had simply been hiding till no one was looking for him anymore."

Suddenly I couldn´t stand the sight of the poster any longer. I pushed the door of the wardrobe shut and turned around to face Mme.Giry. "Why are you telling me all this? Do you want me to understand that this opera belongs to Erik? I already know that. But I also know that neither my son´s life nor mine belong to him. The people here may be content with being told what to do, but I don´t want that…" My voice trailed off as I watched her wait for me to stop. It wasn´t very satisfying to shout at someone who didn´t say anything.

"That´s not what I wanted you to understand.", she corrected me at last. "Sit down for a moment, Christine." We settled down on two uncomfortable stools next to the wardrobe. I vaguely recalled that I had sometimes sat here with Meg, talking while our costumes had been fixed. Yet our conversations had never been very serious. "The point is…", Mme.Giry stressed. "…that for a while Erik did his best to forget everything about you. That´s why he destroyed the objects from ´Don Juan Triumphant´. But he couldn´t forget you. So when he remembered the promise you had given him he used it to enter your life again."

I nodded slowly. Her explanations sounded logical. Still I waited for hearing something I didn´t know myself. "But this proves that I´m right.", I argued. "He wants me back, even after all those years." My former ballet teacher made an impatient gesture. "Of course he wants you back.", she said in exactly the same voice she had used when I had begun to talk about the corpses. "He loves you. Yet that´s not important at the moment. I´m speaking to you, and not to him, because I want you to think about something. In fact, I haven´t talked to him in person for years."

Shifting slightly on the stool I couldn´t help wondering whether this discussion would be over soon. It was not what I had expected it to be. I had hoped Mme.Giry would offer actual suggestions how to solve my problems instead of showing me what Erik had done in the past. Still I tried to pay attention as she went on: "Meg told me that it was Erik who had decided in which house Raoul and you live and which servants you hire. I can understand this makes you angry. But have you, even for a moment, considered how much _you _influenced _his_ life and still do it?".

Now that was truly a completely new thought. I had been convinced it only worked the other way round. Leaning closer to Mme.Giry I nodded, eager not to miss a single word. When she realised that I had nothing to say she continued herself: "You know he´s obsessed with you, child. But this also makes him dependent on you. As long as there´s the tiniest bit of hope that you might return his feelings one day, he doesn´t have the slightest chance of being entirely happy… or as happy as he can be.".

"What do you want me to do?", I asked in a small voice. "You have to make up your mind about what you feel for Erik.", she replied instantly. "Is it friendship? Love? Or something else? For once, you have to forget moral limitations, your status in society and all that. Just go to the core of your being and ask your soul! You´ll find the right answer there…" Her face grew harder as she added: "If you don´t want to do that because you´re afraid of the answer, I can only advise you to do what Erik suggested: Don´t come here again! Philippe will be with his teacher every day, of course, and Antoinette is always welcome as well. But don´t come here yourself! It´ll only make both of you miserable.".

My head felt as if it was on fire as I tried to take in everything I had heard. Finding out what I really felt for Erik… It sounded simple. But it didn´t work. It was as if my soul was hidden behind a high wall. Maybe I was indeed afraid. Slowly I came to my feet and started walking, though I didn´t know where I was going. I was staggering under the weight of the responsibility I had to carry. The responsibility for another person´s happiness…


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Chapter Thirty**

**September 8th 1892: **_Christine_

As I hurried up the corridor leading away from the room Mme.Giry was still in I always had to think about the decision she wanted me to make. I had to find out what I felt for Erik or leave the opera forever. Walking past door after door, then around a corner I looked around. It was a nice place, actually. In fact, I could even imagine coming here every now and then with my family to attend a performance. Maybe on a day when that dreadful diva didn´t sing…

Yet the price for it was high, very high. What if my soul would come up with a result I didn´t like? Would I have to talk to Erik? And what about Raoul? No matter what I did, one of them would be disappointed. Unless… unless I didn´t do anything. Suddenly I was completely calm again. Yes, that was the solution. If I didn´t decide, nobody would be hurt.

Just as I had come to this wonderfully simple conclusion I noticed two people approaching me. It was quite dark in the corridor, yet I knew who they were at once. "Now I´ll show you the room in which all costumes and wigs and things like that are kept. It´s not far away from here. Usually visitors aren´t allowed to go in there, but I think we can make an exception for you. After all, you want to work here as well someday, don´t you?" "Yes, I want to become the prima ballerina, just like you!"

Only now I interrupted their conversation. "Antoinette! Meg!", I called, stepping into the light, so that they´d see me. "Hello Maman!", my daughter said, letting go of Meg´s hand and walking over to take mine. I was reminded of Mme.Giry and squeezed it tightly. "You startled us.", my friend complained, but she was smiling. "Why are you here? I thought you were talking to my mother on the stage."

I didn´t know what to tell her. On the one hand I longed for someone who´d comfort me, but on the other hand I sensed that the time for a friendly conversation and good advice was over. I had decided that I wouldn´t decide anything, and I didn´t feel like justifying myself. So I replied: "We´re finished now, and I went looking for Antoinette. We´ll have to meet Philippe soon.". "But it´s only half past five.", my friend argued. "There´s still plenty of time."

"I want to go now.", I said simply. "Goodbye Meg!" With these words I led my surprised daughter away. I heard footsteps in the corridor and was sure Mme.Giry would be here any second. She´d certainly tell Meg everything, but in this moment I couldn´t have cared less. All I wanted was get away from here as soon as possible without seeing that look of pity in anyone´s eyes.

I was marching so quickly that Antoinette could hardly keep pace with me. At least she was too busy walking to protest against the unfriendly treatment. I knew I should have stopped and explained everything to her instead of dragging her along like a dog, but I couldn´t. After all, I hardly understood it myself, so how could I have explained it to a child? Besides, it was much too private to talk about it, even to my own daughter.

After a little while we reached the Rue Scribe entrance and started waiting. Meg had been right: It was too soon. Philippe was nowhere in sight. As there was nothing to sit on we leaned against the wall. I tried my best not to think about anything in particular, especially the fact that I´d never see the inside of this opera again. Coming back would have meant making a decision. So I wouldn´t come back. It truly was the easiest solution.

"May I ask you something?", Antoinette muttered, just when I had hoped this peaceful silence would last forever. "Of course.", I answered, though I felt like saying ´Of course not!´. "How many people can a person love at the same time?" This question came as a surprise. Looking at my daughter I asked: "Why do you want to know that?". "How many people do _you_ love?", she went on, ignoring what I had said.

It occurred to me that I could be glad she wasn´t interested in why we had left Meg that quickly. Moreover, we still had a lot of time, so we could as well have this conversation right now. "There are different kinds of love.", I said. "The love I feel for your Papa is different from that I feel for your brother and you. And there´s a third kind for my friends." I gave her a gentle smile, not sure whether this was enough to satisfy her curiosity.

It was not. "And which kind of love it is Uncle Erik feels for you?", she asked. For a moment I stared at her open-mouthed. If I had been able to think more quickly, I´d have replied ´The friendship kind.´ and the topic would have been finished. Yet my mind seemed to be in a state of shock. I could only whisper: "Who told you that Erik loves me?". It couldn´t have been Meg, could it? But who else had my daughter talked to?

"Well, I… I read it in that letter he gave you.", she admitted in a small voice. "I found it on the floor in your bedroom and I… I only wanted to find out why you´ve been acting all strangely in the last days." Quickly I decided to discuss the least important part first. Then I´d still have time to think about her initial question. "You know that it´s wrong to read other people´s letters, don´t you?", I said sternly, trying to hide my confusion. Antoinette nodded hastily. "Yes, but… but I didn´t understand half of it anyway.", she argued. "And I didn´t show it to anyone." A brief image of Jacques and Larisse reading the letter flashed before my mind´s eye, and I blushed. That would have been unbelievably humiliating.

My daughter glanced up at me, a slight spark of hope in her eyes. "I´ll never do it again.", she promised. "But Maman… can´t you explain to me what´s wrong with you? It has to do with Uncle Erik, hasn´t it?" It was an entirely new experience to see her approach a topic that cautiously. Maybe she really deserved a little honesty this time. At least I could be sure she wouldn´t judge me.

"It is a very long story.", I started, moving slightly in a fruitless attempt to find a more comfortable position to stand in. "Many years ago I worked here in this opera as a chorus girl. Meg already was my best friend, and your Aunt Antoinette was our teacher. Then I got to know Uncle Erik, who promised to make me an excellent singer. Well, he managed to do that, but some time later I found out that he loved me… the way your Papa, who was my fiancé at that time, loves me."

At this point I had to stop for a few moments, thinking about how to put our complicated relationship into the right words. Finally I said: "Naturally your Papa and Uncle Erik didn´t get along very well. One day they had a big argument, and your father and I ended up leaving Erik alone.". "And still he loves you?", Antoinette asked, frowning. "Wasn´t he very angry at you?" I gave a little shrug. "I don´t know.", I said honestly.

Silence followed my statement. I stared into the direction from which Philippe had to come soon, wishing I had a watch to check the time on. As I glanced down at my daughter again I noticed she was chewing on her bottom lip, like she always did when something was worrying her. "What´s the matter, dear?", I wanted to know softly. "Maman, you don´t… love Uncle Erik the way he does, do you?", she blurted out. I could see the fear in her eyes and instantly felt the urge to comfort her. "The only person I love that way is your Papa.", I assured her. This time I didn´t even know myself whether I was lying.

"Then you should tell Uncle Erik.", she said. "That letter… I didn´t understand much of it, but somehow it made me sad. Perhaps Uncle Erik would feel better if you told him what a great friend he is for you." I sighed deeply. My nine-year-old daughter was giving me advice? Was the whole world conspiring against me now? I felt as if the pressure I was under had just doubled. If I didn´t find a release soon, things could end badly. "Why don´t you all just leave me in peace?" The cry had poured from my lips before I could hold myself back. I pulled open the door and left the opera at a run. "I just need to be alone…", I muttered. "Alone… alone…"


	31. Chapter ThirtyOne

**Chapter Thirty-One**

**September 8th 1892: **_Erik_

I should have stayed in my house. Christine had made it clear in her message that she didn´t wish to see me. Still I was walking next to Philippe, his little hand holding my larger one tightly. I couldn´t help thinking that this alone was worth the journey to the world above ground. It was a miracle that someone actually wanted to touch me, to be at my side. The feeling was warming my old heart more than a fire.

Yet another part of me, my mind, wasn´t warm at all. Every time I thought of Christine it seemed to be hit by an icy-cold bolt of lightning. I was determined not to do as much as talk to her, but to remain in the background. All I wanted was seeing her. She wouldn´t even see me. So I wouldn´t act against her will, would I? Moreover, there was no need to justify myself. This was my opera, and if I felt like having a look at somebody, I´d do it.

Everything was planned carefully: I´d open the door, let the boy go to the coach and wait a little till I´d at least catch a glimpse of her face. Then I´d make a tour through the opera, check whether everyone worked the way I wanted them to and finally return to my home, where I´d spend the night composing. Seeing Christine would surely be a good inspiration.

But even my plans could sometimes be thwarted. When we came to the Rue Scribe entrance the door was already open. And someone was standing there, looking outside. It was a little girl. My reflexes were as excellent as usual. Instantly the hand that wasn´t held by Philippe seized the Punjab Lasso, which was hidden under my cloak. One of the ballet rats seemed to have brought her younger sister again and let her run through my opera. Well, I´d teach her a lesson. A frightening encounter with the Opera Ghost had kept many people from exploring this building on their own.

"Mademoiselle", I started in my most menacing voice. "Has nobody ever told you how dangerous it is to wander around here all alone? There are so many –" I was interrupted by the boy pulling his hand out of mine. Quickly I leaned down to glare at him. Didn´t he realise that this was an additional lesson for him as well? Before long he´d have to learn how to scare people. It was part of what I did.

Yet Philippe was not standing at my side anymore. He went to the girl, who had turned around in surprise. "Antoinette!", he called. "Did you like the opera? Isn´t it wonderful? And where is Maman? Is she waiting in the coach?" My stomach contracted as I understood that I had almost introduced the daughter of the woman I loved to the Punjab Lasso. Hastily I tucked it away again and walked up to the children to have a closer look at her.

"Bonjour Mademoiselle Antoinette.", I greeted her, trying to sound especially friendly to make up for my little mistake. "Bonjour Monsieur… erm…", she stammered, obviously searching for a last name to use. "Since your brother calls me ´Uncle Erik´, you can as well do the same.", I offered. By now I quite liked that name. She nodded, staring at the floor, as if something particularly interesting was happening there.

I frowned slightly. This behaviour was rather unusual for the girl. I had watched her play in the garden with Philippe countless times and had thought her to be very vivacious. It occurred to me that my initial statement might have intimidated her so much that she was afraid of me now. And I didn´t want that. The thought crossed my mind quickly, making me frown even more. Since when did I no longer want people to be afraid of me? No, I corrected myself, that wasn´t true for all people. I merely didn´t want this girl, the sister of Philippe and daughter of Christine, to be afraid of me.

"Have I scared you?", I asked softly. She shook her head. Placing my index finger under her chin I made her look up at me. At once I noticed the signs of recently shed tears on her face. So she wasn´t in that state because of me. If she had cried in the short time since we had come here, I´d have heard it. "What is it then?", I went on. "Did you have an argument with your mother and ran away?" That would have explained why she was standing at the door all alone. If they had argued on the coach, she might have come back here to think about everything till her brother arrived.

Antoinette shook her head yet again. "Sh-she ran way!", she blurted out. "We were talking about l-love, and suddenly she shouted that I should leave her in peace and ran away. She was so fast that I couldn´t follow her for more than a minute. Then I went back to the opera to look for Aunt Antoinette and Meg, but I couldn´t find them. This place in so huge…" The girl dissolved into tears and was unable to go on. But then, I had the impression that she had said more or less everything she had wanted to anyway. It wasn´t enough for me, though. "In which direction did she run?", I wanted to know. "And what exactly did you talk about before?"

She tried to stop crying and answer me, but the harder she tried, the more she had to choke and sob. When she glanced at me hopefully I realised that she expected me to comfort her. Her brother just patted her arm awkwardly, yet I was the adult. It was my duty to come up with some kind of consolation. Admittedly I felt rather helpless. My experience in this area was limited to the nights in which Christine had cried in her bed in the ballet girls´ dormitory because she had missed her father. I had sung to her then. A smile lit up my face. That was something I could do for her daughter as well.

I cleared my throat and started singing a Romanian lullaby I had picked up in the gypsy camp I had stayed at a long time ago. Of course no one had bothered to sing to me, but I had heard other children being soothed by its soft melody. I hadn´t had enough knowledge of Romany then to understand the song´s content. By and by I had learned more, and finally I had known it was about a little lamb that loses its way and finds back to his mother after many dangerous adventures and moments of loneliness. The song had a certain sad beauty that had touched my heart even at such an early age.

After a few minutes I noticed the girl getting calmer and ended my song. The sobs grew less and less, and although the expression on her face was still serious, she didn´t look as desperate as before. It seemed that she was returning to her old self slowly. This assumption was confirmed when she muttered "That was so nice. Thank you, Uncle Erik."… and hugged me around the middle briefly. For a moment I forgot that I had to breathe. I glanced down at her, feeling both proud because I had managed to comfort her and even more helpless than before because I didn´t know what to do with the child. Fortunately she let go of me quickly.

"Can you tell me now what your mother and you talked about?", I repeated my question, confident that she´d answer it now. From the way Antoinette was squirming I could tell the topic had been rather delicate. Yet I couldn´t spare her. Maybe I´d get an idea of why or where Christine had gone. "She said there were different kinds of love.", the girl replied in a low voice, as if she was embarrassed to talk about such things to a total stranger. "Then I asked her… what she felt for you. She told me she didn´t love you the same way she loved Papa… and then she ran away."

So I had been the subject of their conversation. Well, that certainly was a reason for fleeing. Still I didn´t know where Christine could be now. Yet it occurred to me that there were others who might. "Philippe, take your sister down to my house and stay there till I return.", I ordered. "I´ll inform Mme.Giry and her daughter. Together we´ll find her, I´m sure of it." I placed my hands on the children´s shoulders briefly. Then I sent them away with a gesture. I waited till they were gone and walked away myself. Despite what I had told them there was just one thing I was certain of: I had to keep my mind busy. Otherwise I´d inevitably start pondering about the sentence Antoinette had repeated so innocently: Christine didn´t love me like the Vicomte. Its dreadful clarity made me shudder.


	32. Chapter ThirtyTwo

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

**September 8th 1892: **_Erik_

Finding the Girys proved to be far more difficult than I had thought. Usually Mme.Giry was on stage or in her small office, and Meg was on stage or in her dressing room. Since I had heard the pointless chatting of some chorus girls on my way to the Rue Scribe entrance I assumed the rehearsal was over, which meant that a search on stage probably wouldn´t be successful. I made a mental note that I had to talk to Mme.Giry about her lack of working morale; actually the rehearsal should have taken an hour longer. Yet under the given circumstances that could wait.

Christine was missing. The thought made me speed up more and more till I was walking as quickly as I could without appearing undignified. After all, I had a reputation to lose. A few minutes later I reached little Giry´s dressing room and went inside, not bothering to knock. Politeness wasn´t important now. Besides, even if the girl was changing, I wouldn´t see anything I hadn´t looked at a hundred times before during dissections.

Yet the fact that she wasn´t there spared Meg the fate of being stared at by the ugliest man in Paris. Within moments I had left the room again and headed towards her mother´s office. Maybe I´d even find both of them there. If I didn´t, I´d have to start the tiresome business of opening every single door in the building and scare stagehands and ballet rats into telling me where they were. I was only too aware of the irony of searching for someone who had to help me search someone else.

For once Fortune was smiling at me. Turning around a corner I spotted the very persons I needed now. "M. le Fantome!", Meg cried, and I wondered whether anyone had ever called my name with such friendliness, expect Philippe and possibly his mother. "Have you seen Christine? First she ran away from Maman and then from me. We have no idea where she is now!"

"It seems she has developed a certain pattern.", I remarked dryly. "From her daughter I know that she has run away from her as well. And this time she has left the opera." "Is Antoinette all right?", Mme.Giry asked. As the girl´s godmother it was her duty to be concerned about her. Still I thought Christine was more important. "She was just a little upset, but she´s fine now.", I replied shortly. "I sent the children to my house, so that they won´t get in our way."

From the expressions on their face I could tell that the two women didn´t like the idea of Antoinette and Philippe being in my home all alone, but they nodded. "It could be my fault.", Mme.Giry said quietly. "I put her under a lot of pressure. If I hadn´t – " "No, it´s my fault.", her daughter contradicted her. "Maybe she got the impression that I was supporting Antoinette too much in her wish to become a ballerina…"

I looked at them in confusion as they continued their strange conversation. It was like reading a book in which every other page was missing. "Could you stop that, please?", I asked, silencing them without as much as raising my voice. "If you go on like this, we won´t know anything useful in a year´s time. Why don´t we find a place with a little more privacy and fill each other in on the details there?" I didn´t wait for a reply, but simply opened the door of the nearest room. "But… that´s Signora Marchesi´s dressing room.", Meg muttered. "And this is my opera.", I said flatly. "So?" The dancer didn´t answer and went inside after her mother.

Every time I entered this room I was shocked by how tastelessly it was decorated. It was a mystery to me how a single person could possess so many ugly objects. Everything had garish colours. In addition, many things were glittering. Compared to the forced brightness of the room Mme.Giry and her daughter resembled two sparrows next to a peacock, pale and sickly. I didn´t dare image what I had to look like.

It took our eyes a few moments to get used to the surroundings. Then we sat down on the plush sofa, which was a vivid green, and started talking. Mme.Giry was the first. She spoke slowly, as if she had to consider every word. More than once I felt like urging her on, but I sensed that she needed the time. Meg was next, telling her part of the story quickly. And finally it was my turn, yet I didn´t have a lot to say. I only repeated what I had heard from Antoinette.

My head was filled with questions afterwards; the first one was directed at Mme.Giry. "Why did you insist on Christine deciding what she feels for me? Shouldn´t that be a business between her and me?" "Yes, but… but…" It rarely happened that this woman struggled to find the right words, and it made me realise how difficult my question had been. "You haven´t seen her today.", she eventually answered. "It was almost frightening. She´s a mere shadow of herself. I thought making a decision would lift the pressure she´s under, not increase it. I thought she´d feel better if her feelings were clear…"

"Apparently your plan didn´t work.", I commented. Slowly I felt anger rise from my stomach. "How could you have been that foolish? Christine´s only a child. She needs –" Yet to my utter surprise Mme.Giry interrupted me. Though she tried to hide it, I could tell that she was angry as well. "She is _not_ a child. She´s a grown-up woman, a wife and mother. And making decisions, may they turn out to be right or wrong, is part of the adult life. This is something you simply have to accept, Erik."

I gazed at her, trying to find out whether I was more shocked by her bold words or her use of my first name. It probably was a combination of both… and also the fact that she was right. Christine was thirty years my junior, yet that didn´t make her a child who had to be protected from wrong decisions. It even occurred to me that perhaps I hadn´t tried to protect her, but myself. The anger I had felt before crumbled. "Yes…", I muttered. "I won´t keep her from making a decision…"

Mme.Giry nodded, clearly satisfied by my reply. Meg, on the other hand, said: "That´s all very well, but don´t we have to _find _her first?". We two others jumped as she reminded us of our present situation. Within a matter of seconds I had developed a plan. "Meg, you take one of the opera´s coaches and drive to Christine´s home. If she´s not there, tell the servants to send a message to the opera as soon as she arrives. Then go to her hairdresser. She has an appointment today. Maybe she tries to maintain her normal routine, at least on the surface. Mme.Giry, you go to the park that is nearest to the opera. She loves sitting on benches there and watching other people. You know the park is rather large, so it could take a while. Afterwards you can check the surrounding cafés and restaurants. She might have become hungry."

"And what will you do?", the older woman asked as I took a deep breath. I was pleased that they didn´t question the fact that I knew best what to do. "I´ll check the rest of the area around the opera.", I replied. "The… less friendly parts…" I would have never dreamed of sending someone else there, let alone a defenceless woman. "We´ll meet again at eight.", I informed them before we left the room, each of us walking into a different direction. Involuntarily my hand wandered to my Punjab Lasso. Perhaps I´d need it this time.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………...

At nine o´clock I stood at the Rue Scribe entrance again, gazing outside without seeing anything. Nobody had found Christine or at least got a clue of where she could be. By now Mme.Giry and Meg were on their way to my lair to give the two children a decent dinner and to come up with a story why her mother still wasn´t there. I hadn´t been able to accompany them. Usually I was an excellent liar, but in this case I´d have failed miserably.

Though I had pondered and pondered about more places where she could hide, I couldn´t think of any. Fear and despair were a dangerous mixture. They had wiped my mind blank from all useful ideas. All it still produced were images of Christine walking down a dark street, Christine being mugged, Christine lying in the gutter, bleeding, calling for help in a dying voice… Tears were burning in my eyes, but I couldn´t afford such weakness now. I had to find her, eve if it meant… I swallowed hard. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

I left the opera behind quickly, not bothering to get a coach. It wasn´t a long way for someone who had walked it a thousand times. About an hour later I sat in an armchair, a glass of wine next to me. Now that I knew what had to be done I could allow myself to relax slightly. Besides, I had never said no to a good wine, and this one was very good. I could get used to it.

After some minutes I heard voices in the corridor. "There is a visitor in the living room, Monsieur." "One of my business partners, I suppose. I told them not to come here this late in the evening." Then the door was opened and the person I had waited for came in. With a certain satisfaction I watched the colour drain from his ridiculously boyish face. "Y-you?", he asked in a chocked whisper. "What´s the matter, Vicomte?", I said pleasantly. "You look as if you had seen a ghost."


	33. Chapter ThirtyThree

**Author´s note:** Thanks for all the nice reviews! And happy Easter!

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

**September 8th 1892: **_Raoul_

This could not be happening. It was impossible that the Phantom, my old enemy, was actually sitting in my favourite armchair, sipping a glass of my favourite wine. It had to be a nightmare. Yet at the same time I was fairly certain that I wasn´t sleeping. Taking a few steps forwards to have a better look I bumped my shin at the table, wincing in pain. Now I was sure.

He gave me an amused smile. "Will you say anything in the nearer future or are you planning to stare at me till morning?", he asked in a lazy drawl, running a hand through his dark hair. I noticed it had exactly the same colour as the last time we had come face to face, or rather, face to mask. He was probably still wearing the same old wig.

"I… I thought you were dead…", I uttered the first sentence that appeared in my mind. As soon as it had left my mouth I felt like slapping myself. What a stupid thing to say that had been! If he was walking, talking and insulting me, he certainly was not dead, although he did look like it. But then, he had never looked different. Nothing about him had changed.

He chuckled softly. "Is that the most intelligent statement you can come up with?", he asked. "My, my, Vicomte, your son could do better." "It´s ´Comte´ now. And what do you know about my son?", I hissed, throwing him a scornful glance. "Nothing. You´ve probably read the birth announcement in the paper five years ago, that´s all." Yet to my surprise I hadn´t made him angry. On the contrary: The smile on his ugly face widened. "You ask what I know about your son? Everything.", he replied softly. "I know his favourite food, his favourite colour, what he likes and what he´s afraid of – probably more than you´ll ever know."

For a moment or two I simply stared at him, trying to find out whether he was lying. It was impossible to tell. But before I could say anything he had already gone on, thus answering my unasked question. "He likes strawberry cake with cream best, and light blue, and also being read to by his mother. He´s afraid of being alone, especially in the dark. Do you want me to continue?" I shook my head wordlessly. It was all true. And it was also true that I only knew those things because Christine or Jacqueline had told me. I simply wasn´t home often enough. How could the Phantom know such things about my son, and I didn´t?

Slowly a certain suspicion formed in my head. "You have spied on us for all those years, haven´t you?", I asked, my hands clenching into fists. "You´ve collected facts about our family, everything you could lay your skeletal hands on. And now you´ve come here to scare us with your vast knowledge." "You´re improving.", he commented dryly. "The first two thirds of your assumptions were actually correct. Congratulations." He clapped his hands a few times, the sound like derisive laughter in my ears.

With some fast strides I reached the armchair and seized his wrists, making him stop clapping. I could feel the cold seeping through the sleeves of his jacket and penetrating my skin. The sensation was so unexpected that I nearly let go of him immediately. After a moment of blissful silence he wound himself out of my grasp with an extraordinary speed and pushed me away. I almost tripped over the table, but somehow managed to remain standing.

"Never touch me again!", he snarled. "If I didn´t still need you, you´d already dangle from the ceiling! But maybe…" Now he was smiling again, a predatory smile, like a lion examining its prey. It made cold shivers run down my spine. "Maybe this is what you want. You want to feel the loving touch of the Punjab Lasso again. You lie awake at night, wishing you – " "Stop it!", I called. The ridiculousness of that thought gave me new strength. How dared he say such nonsense about me in my own house? "Either you tell me why you´re here or you go!", I demanded.

I hadn´t been too confident that my attempt would work. It was difficult to threaten someone who was capable of killing within seconds. Yet for some reason it did work. The expression on his face changed from smug to concerned. "It´s Christine.", he muttered. "She´s missing. She went away from the opera hours ago, leaving her children behind. Nobody knows where she could be now. That´s why I´m here; I thought you might know other places she likes to be at."

"You used to be a much better liar.", I told him coldly. "Christine hates the opera. She hasn´t been there since the night I rescued her from you. And she´d never leave our children alone. They´re probably just… delayed…" A glance at my pocket watch showed me that maybe there was a reason for being worried. It was a quarter to ten, and my family wasn´t home yet. That was obvious, although I hadn´t looked into every single room, of course. Yet in this one aspect I trusted the Phantom. He was cunning; he wouldn´t have told such a story if they could come down the stairs any moment.

Not taking my eyes off him, just in case he planned another trick, I called: "Jacqueline?". The maid opened the door at once and came to stand next to the table. If I hadn´t know better, I´d have thought she had been in the corridor, eavesdropping on our conversation. "Where are my wife and children?", I asked her. "I… I don´t know, Monsieur.", she replied in a small voice. Then something strange happened: She briefly looked at the Phantom, and he gave her a slight nod. It seemed to encourage her to go on. "About three hours ago your wife´s friend, Mme.Tavoire, was here. She was searching for Madame and told me to send a note to the opera when she arrived here. As far as I know the little ones are still at the opera."

I barely let her finish speaking before blurting out: "Did you pay her for saying that? Did you need someone to support your feeble story and picked our maid, a girl as honest as no other? You´re truly despicable.". "No, no, Monsieur.", Jacqueline protested, shaking her head wildly. "It really happened like that, I swear…" "It would be better if you left now.", I told her with forced calm. Seeing the fury in my eyes she obeyed without another word.

As soon as she was gone I shouted: "I know what you´ve done! You´ve abducted Christine and the children, and now you´re here to mock me!". "And for a second I had believed you had become wiser.", he stated. "I´ve already told you why I´m here. I thought you might help me find Christine. The mocking was just a pleasant side effect…"

That sentence was the final straw. All the time I had tried to hold myself back, at least on a physical level, but now it was simply too much. Leaning down I seized the Phantom under the armpits and pulled him to his feet. Anger was fuelling my motions as I dragged him to the nearest wall and slammed him against it. He gasped, probably both in shock and pain. It was an immensely satisfying sound. Placing my hand at his throat I hissed: "Where do you hide my family? At your lair? Yes?".

He moved his head slightly from one side to the other. "The children are staying in my house, but I truly don´t know where Christine is.", he said. Why did his voice sound annoyed instead of frightened? Yet at least his answers became more honest. "Now we´re getting closer to the truth.", I remarked. "I can assured you that if you´ve harmed my children in any way, I´ll make you pay for it. And now once more: Where is Christine?", I asked, my hand squeezing his windpipe more firmly with every word.

The events of the next minute happened so fast that I barely understood what was going on till it was too late. In one moment I was still holding onto him, and in the next one he had grabbed my forearm in a vice-like grip, forcing my hand away from him. I tried to struggle, to hit him with my free hand, but he merely laughed about my attempts. He possessed the kind of strength a normal man could only dream of.

When he started rummaging under his cloak I knew what was coming. It had happened in countless nightmares for the last ten years. I recognised the feeling of the noose around my neck at once, the way it lightly cut into my skin. Soon it would hurt more and more till… Frantically I gasped for breath, staring at the Phantom, who stood a few feet away. "It´s time to end this farce.", he said, and I wondered whether those were the last words I´d ever hear.


	34. Chapter ThirtyFour

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

**September 8th 1892: **_Erik_

Having a normal conversation with that boy was impossible. The facts that he was a Comte, husband and father hadn´t changed him a bit. He was just as arrogant and incapable of listening as the last time we had met. Well, now he couldn´t help but listen to me. And he had also stopped those ridiculous attempts to free himself. Maybe he was coming to his senses at last.

We were both breathing hard. I hadn´t worked with my Punjab Lasso for a while, and it was quite exhausting. Still I knew exactly how to keep it taut without running the risk of accidentally killing him. That would have been most annoying. After about a minute I noticed that he calmed down visibly. He even closed his eyes. The only thing that was still moving were his lips. Although I had bid farewell to church a long time ago, I recognised a prayer when I heard one.

"There is no need to say your last prayer yet.", I informed him. "Believe me: If I had wanted you dead, you wouldn´t have come farther than the first words. And open your eyes when I´m talking to you. Otherwise I might take it to heart." He seemed so surprised that he did what I had told him. "But… but if you don´t want to kill me, why have you done this?", he asked in a hoarse whisper.

I rolled my eyes. "You kept attacking me.", I explained shortly. "And since I have no intention of returning home covered in scratches, I had to… stop you with my very own method." "Can´t you let go of me now? I will listen to you, I promise.", he said, looking at me in a way that horribly reminded me of his son. Yet while I thought it rather charming when Philippe used that weapon, it was strange to see it coming from a grown-up man. Maybe he should have better let his eyes closed. "No.", I replied. "In the next moment you might have changed your mind a second time, and I´ll have to do it again. But I can make it more comfortable." I loosened the rope a little, so that he could breathe more easily.

"Now we can talk like two civilised men.", I stated, only to be interrupted by a sound strangely resembling a chuckle. "Maybe I´ve made things too comfortable for you. One more insolence like that, and I´ll…" I gestured at the Lasso. He gulped. It seemed that keeping him in a state of permanent anxiety was the easiest solution. At least it was best for my poor nerves.

As nice as it had been to play a little with the boy, I had to start our conversation about the important topic of Christine. We had already lost too much time arguing, and I wasn´t stupid enough not to realise that I was to blame for it as well. Provoking him had been an enjoyable pastime. Yet now we had to get to business. "So… Christine is missing for more than four hours. Do we agree on that?", I asked, giving him a stern glance. He nodded hastily. Briefly I told him about where Mme.Giry, her daughter and I had already searched for her.

"I still don´t understand why she was at the opera at all.", he muttered. "And why did she take the children with her? She never even wanted Antoinette to visit the opera with Meg…" The situation was incredibly tempting for me. How easy it would have been to make up a story about his wife and me meeting in secret! Even the truth would have probably been enough to destroy his trust in her. Yet I simply couldn´t do that to her. Perhaps I was growing soft in my old days.

So all I told him was: "For the moment it´s enough that you know she was at the opera and has fled from there. You can ask Christine for the whole story when we find her.". I tried hard not to think ´if we find her´. "Where else could she be?", I went on. "Do the two of you have favourite places?" It hurt me to ask such questions, to imagine that maybe Christine and her husband did have a part of their life I hadn´t been able to gain access to. Yet I knew how important it was to get all the information I could. "Not really.", he answered, oblivious to my internal struggle. "Apart from the park you´ve mentioned there are a few restaurants we like to go to, but I doubt she is at one of them. Everyone would have recognised her at once and started asking questions."

We looked at each other, and for a moment I was sure we were filled with the same feeling: helplessness. Both of us wanted to find Christine for the same reason: We loved her. And that only made us more desperate. "It would help to know whether she has taken a coach.", I muttered after a little while of silent pondering. "Well, she doesn´t have ours.", he said. "On my way here I met our coachman, who was just going home. He told me that he had waited for her this evening, but she never came. She could have hired a coach, though." "Does she have enough money with her to do that?", I asked. It wasn´t a very good start for a search, but a start nonetheless.

"That depends on whether she has got her handbag.", he replied. "Her purse usually is in it. If she has forgotten it here, it should be at the coat rack in the corridor." "Then we should go there and check it. What are you waiting for?", I called impatiently as he didn´t move. We had no time to lose, and he was just standing there, doing nothing. "I´ve got a little problem here.", he reminded me, gesturing upwards. "Oh…", I made and let go of him quickly. It seemed to have been too fast, for he couldn´t keep his balance and crashed to the floor.

I removed the Punjab Lasso from around his neck and pulled him to his feet. "Thank you.", he said, giving me a lopsided smile. I chose not to reply, but walked out into the corridor, the Vicomte behind me. "The handbag isn´t there.", he muttered after he had examined the coat rack for a minute. "It´s always next to her hats." He pointed at a few hats I had often seen Christine wear.

"So she has got money.", I stated. "Yet even if we assume she had hired a coach, we don´t know where she has gone. She certainly didn´t pick a place that reminds her of you or me…" "Why not?", he interjected, but I didn´t answer. I had decided not to say anything about the subject, so I wouldn´t do it now either. "Still it has to be place that has a significance to her.", I mused. "Like…" "Perros!", he suddenly exclaimed. "Her father´s grave.", I added, nodding. That made a lot of sense. Christine had fled to that place once before while struggling with a decision, so why shouldn´t she have done it again? Moreover, what alternatives did we have? Perros was our last hope.

The Vicomte seemed to share my opinion, for he said: "We can take my coach, but the coachman has already gone home. He lives far away from here and – ". "I´ll drive.", I announced. He threw me a questioning glance, his hand wandering to his throat involuntarily. "I could drive as well, of course.", he offered. I sighed deeply. "Look.", I said. "I don´t like you, and you don´t like me. It has been like that for many years, and honestly I don´t want to change it. But now we have to work together. We have to trust each other, at least till we have found Christine. I am the better driver because I certainly have more experience with the dark. Yet if you´re afraid I could kill you as soon as you´ve fallen asleep…"

I didn´t finish my sentence, but stretched out my hand as a sign of truce. He hesitated for a moment, then seized it and shook it slowly and solemnly. "So I can turn my back towards you now?", he asked. "Yes.", I replied, letting go of his hand. "But don´t get used to it!" He gave me a tentative smile, and I realised that I had actually been almost friendly to him. What a weird feeling!

When he grabbed his hat from the coat rack I advised him: "You should also take one of those.". I handed him a scarf. "We don´t want to scare Christine, do we?" He nodded and tied the scarf around his neck, covering the thin bloody line the Lasso had left. Although I didn´t regret what I had done, I felt better not seeing it. Usually I didn´t like leaving my work half-finished.

Within a few minutes the coach was ready, though the horse had been less than enthusiastic about leaving its stable in the dark. It was still rather frightened as it trotted down the street, but a few gentle words managed to calm it down. "Shouldn´t we go to the opera first and make sure the children are fine?", I heard the Vicomte ask behind me. "That would only cost precious time.", I replied. "They´re probably sleeping. Besides, they´re not alone. Little Meg Giry and her mother are with them." "Isn´t her name Meg Tavoire now?", he muttered. It almost sounded teasing. Smiling slightly I gave back: "Old habits die hard… Vicomte.".


	35. Chapter ThirtyFive

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

**September 8th 1892:**_ Christine_

What a nice, quiet place this was! It had definitely been worth the long journey. The coachman had been very stupid, though. "A graveyard isn´t the right place for a fine woman like you, especially not at night.", he had said. "Are you sure that you don´t want me to drive you home instead?" Yet a certain amount of money had silenced him at once, and he had brought me here without superfluous comments.

Only when I had told him to leave me alone in Perros he had protested again. "I don´t know this area too well, but I doubt you´ll get another coach here.", he had argued. "I could wait till you´re finished, you know. There´s not much business in Paris this late at night anyway." It had been the friendly offer of a probably very kind man, and still I had declined it. I couldn´t bear another person´s presence at the moment, and the thought that I had to hurry because someone was waiting for me had made me shiver.

The coachman had shook his head incredulously. "And what if you don´t find anybody to take you home?", he had asked. "Where will you spend the night?" "I have relatives living nearby.", I had lied quickly. "I can stay at their house and drive back in the morning." Not for the first time it occurred to me what a good liar I had become. It was nothing to be proud of, though. The truth was that I had no idea where I´d sleep. Maybe I wouldn´t do it at all.

In the end he had given up. "Do take this!", he had said firmly, handing me his thick woollen cloak. "It may be warm now, but it´ll cool down faster than you think, Madame." I had thanked him and walked away. Before he had left at last I had heard him murmur: "I still don´t like the idea… a woman between all those graves…". "At least the people there are silent.", I had muttered, opening the heavy iron gate.

So I was wandering around with a cloak over my left arm now. As it wasn´t cold yet I had thought about putting it on the ground, but something made me keep it. It had been a generous present, and I didn´t want it to end up in the dirt. Besides, I probably wouldn´t have found it again. The graveyard was gigantic, much vaster than in my memory. But then, I had always been here at day. For some reason everything seemed bigger at night.

The crescent moon was shining brightly, plunging my surroundings into a strange, surreal light. Soon it would show the world its full beauty. I stopped for a moment and glanced up at it longingly, feeling some kind of connection between it and me, or rather, between her and me. Hadn´t Father often told me that the moon was female in many stories and legends? Unlike her dissimilar twin, the sun, she was always changing, and no one complained about it. No one expected her to remain in one form for eternity. She could be content. Or was she like me, constantly on the run? Maybe she was running from the sun, which always stayed the same. Or was she running after the sun? My thoughts grew blurred and melted into each other.

Church bells pulled me out of my reverie. I couldn´t stand here and ponder about the moon all night. I had to get to my father´s grave. The way to the mausoleum wasn´t far. Yet when I pushed down the handle, the door didn´t move. It was locked. If I had thought about my journey carefully before coming to the graveyard, I might have expected something like this. But I hadn´t thought about anything. I had only walked up and down the Parisian streets for hours. Seeing a coach I had suddenly known where I had wanted to go.

Heaving a deep sigh I sank down onto the stone steps leading to the mausoleum. Since I had had to abandon my original plan of getting inside, I could as well stay here. Actually it didn´t make any difference. If I truly believed he could hear me, he could surely also hear me when I sat outside. Perhaps it was even better like this. The cool night air was caressing my face and enveloping my body like a blanket. Surely the air inside would have been stuffy.

"Father?", I called in a low voice. Usually I only spoke to him in my thoughts, but now I felt like really talking. It was oddly comforting to hear my own voice break the silence. "You know what has been going on between Erik and me in the last years?", I went on. "Of course you do. You know everything that has happened in my life, even though you´re no longer there." This thought had always been my biggest consolation, ever since I hadn´t been able to believe in the Angel of Music anymore.

Briefly I cleared my throat before saying: "Then you also know that Erik has been a very good teacher and an even better friend to me. It was terrible that I had to hurt his feelings so much, after he had been so kind to me. When I left him I thought my heart would break. I lost so much that sometimes…". My voice dropped to a whisper, as if I was afraid of hearing the next words uttered aloud. "…sometimes I wondered whether… being with Raoul was truly worth it."

I jumped slightly as the full impact of what I had said shot through me. "I love Raoul, of course I do.", I continued, stumbling over the words in an attempt to get them out as quickly as possible. "He has always been there for me, no matter how sad or frightened I was. He´s a wonderful husband and father. And still… I lied to him. I lie so often these days, Father. I´m sorry. I know it isn´t the way you brought me up…"

For a few moments I was lost in memories about my childhood. Then I forced myself back into the present. I couldn´t afford growing sentimental. My problems wouldn´t go away if I buried myself in the past. I had to keep talking. And that was what I did. "I didn´t tell Raoul about the promise I had given Erik. At first I didn´t think it was that important. And as I realised I had been wrong… it was too late. You know, Raoul surely assumed Erik was dead. He´d be shocked if he found out the truth." My breath sped up as I imagined my husband and my former teacher meeting. "He´d try to kill Erik. And then… then Erik would kill him."

A dry sob shook my body. "I couldn´t bear losing either of them.", I whispered. "Raoul has been part of my life for all those years, and Erik… he has been there as well, even though I´ve only found out about it recently. It makes me feel… secure to know that those two men are protecting me." I gave a sad little smile. "But Mme.Giry was right: It´s not fair as long as I´m leaving Erik in the dark about my feelings for him. At least Raoul knows that I love him."

I stopped, realising I had reached an essential part of my soliloquy. The lower half of my body was growing numb from sitting here for such a long time, yet I didn´t dare stand up, afraid I could forget where I had been. "Maybe I´ve never told Erik what I feel for him because I don´t know it myself.", I muttered. "Sometimes it´s like friendship. I like it that he´s so nice to Philippe and that he cares for my well-being. I´m also sure he looks after my children while I´m here… But when we kissed… it suddenly was so similar to what I feel for Raoul…"

Resting my face in my palms I breathed: "What shall I do, Father? What is the right answer?". Of course there was no reply. Suddenly I felt foolish for having placed so much hope in coming to my father´s grave. ´He´s dead, Christine.´, I told myself sternly. ´Dead, dead, dead! And dead people cannot give advice. It´s about time that you grow up and make your own decisions instead of running to your father like a little girl.´

Those were clear words. But I couldn´t comply. I was overwhelmed by a leaden tiredness. It was as if every bone in my body was screaming for sleep. Closing my eyes for a few minutes couldn´t be bad, could it? I´d be able to continue thinking afterwards. As quickly as it was possible with very heavy arms I spread out the cloak next to me to make the steps a little softer and crawled onto it. The wool was scratchy against my cheek as I lay down on my side. Sighing I turned onto my back. The ever-changing moon was the last thing I saw before falling asleep.


	36. Chapter ThirtySix

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

**September 8th – September 9th 1892:**_ Erik_

"Shouldn´t we be there yet?", the Vicomte asked. I sighed deeply, trying to suppress any unfriendly remark about his childish behaviour. "I can´t drive very quickly.", I replied as calmly as possible. "It´s a narrow path, and I have to pay attention to animals running from one side to the other. But if you think you could do it better, feel free to try!" I lifted the reins invitingly, yet he only mumbled something sounding like "I didn´t mean it like that.".

Maintaining the truce had been much easier when he had still been asleep. I had driven in silence, not thinking about anything in particular. For brief periods of time I had even been able to forget my worries about Christine. I had imagined I was merely taking a nightly ride in the coach. Yet since he had woken up five minutes ago and was annoying me with his constant questions, that was no longer possible. Not even in my wildest dreams I´d have taken him along.

If I had hoped my answer would silence him, I had been wrong. "Are you sure this is the right way?", he wanted to know just a moment later. "I don´t remember this road. Maybe I should have stayed away and guided you. When was the last time you´ve been to Perros, ten years ago?" "Actually it was in May.", I informed him. "May 10th, to be precise…"

I could almost hear him take in this fact and compare it to the things he already knew. It was only a matter of time till he´d understand what it meant. "We´ve been there on the same day. You were spying on us again!", he finally called, sounding much too triumphant for someone who had just drawn a conclusion any five-year-old could have found out. "Yes, I was.", I admitted frankly. "That hat you wore was exceptionally ugly. You can count yourself lucky that you lost it in the theatre two months later."

"Do you… know everything about our live?.", he asked quietly. If I could have turned around in my seat, I´d have done it now. For once I´d have liked to see his face. He had sounded unusually serious. "I try to.", I replied shortly. "But why?", he went on. "It´s been ten years since Christine decided against you. Can´t you just accept it and live your own life?" "No.", I said flatly. Oh, I could have said so much more! I could have told him about the kisses, about Philippe and everything else. But not a single word came over my lips. That was Christine´s task, not mine.

Now he sighed as well. "Anyway, of course this will stop.", he declared. "I appreciate your concern about Christine, but after we´ve taken her home I don´t want to hear anything about you sneaking around our house, all right?" I could hardly keep myself from bursting into laughter. After all, I had been ´sneaking around their house´, as he called it, for the last ten years without him taking notice. What made him think he had the right to order me to stop? Besides, if Christine told him the entire story, things would change anyway.

I was almost a bit grateful when we arrived at Perros just a few moments later, for it spared me giving an answer. Telling the truth would have been impossible, but making up a reply about me becoming a good little Phantom would have been pathetic as well. Fortunately he seemed to have forgotten his statement by the time the coach came to a halt at the graveyard. It was just the same for me. Nothing but Christine was important. What was the point in discussing the future if we couldn´t even be sure about her present situation?

We left the coach quickly. While I tied the horse to a tree nearby, he was already walking towards the gate. "Wait!", I called. "You don´t even have a lantern!" Though I might have been rather impatient myself, I wasn´t stupid. The moon had shone brightly when we had departed from Paris, but during our journey more and more clouds had formed, so that it was quite dark now. Even I wouldn´t have wandered around without a source of light.

I joined the Vicomte at the gate, where he had waited reluctantly. "Shall we split up and search at different sides?", he asked as soon as we had entered the graveyard. I rolled my eyes discreetly. "As much as I can understand your desire to get away from me – and I can assure you that it´s mutual – it won´t work that way.", I told him. "We´ve only got one lantern." "But I´ve heard you could see in the dark.", he argued, looking at me in surprise.

This time I couldn´t hold back a groan. "What do you think I am - a cat?", I asked. "True, I get used to the dark more quickly than an average person, but that´s just because I spend so much time underground. Maybe I´ll get along a little better than you, that´s all. Could you keep the rest of your stupid prejudices about me to yourself in the future? Otherwise I might be tempted to revive the one about me killing people who annoy me…"

"So I´m annoying you?", he called. "And what are you doing then? Every time I ask you a question all I get is a cryptic murmur! I want answers, don´t you understand that? I feel as if I had missed something important, and the only person who could tell me doesn´t do it." I took a step closer to him. The lantern´s light turned his face into a grotesque grimace. "Has it never occurred to you that perhaps I don´t talk to you because I don´t want it?", I hissed. "I would have been perfectly happy with not speaking a single word to you in my life. If it hadn´t been for Christine – "

We looked at each other and inhaled sharply as we remembered why we were here. "Maybe we should cease talking.", I suggested. "We don´t have time for such pointless arguments." He nodded in agreement, gestured at the right way, and our search began. We could only walk slowly, for the path was uneven. I was the first to go down the rows, illuminating them best I could. The Vicomte went after me. Our shouts of "Christine? Christine?" echoed over the graveyard, resounding from the walls. It was as if a dozen people were calling for her.

Usually I loved the night and would have chosen it over the day any time, but today it was different. If it had been light, we could have spotted her in an instant. Yet in the dark I had to bring the lantern to every bench and every large stone, afraid we might overlook her. Once I suddenly heard a sound behind me and spun around, certain it was her, only to find my companion lying on the ground. He had apparently tripped over a stone and fallen. I helped him to his feet, holding back the comment that already was on the tip of my tongue. This wasn´t the right time for snide remarks.

I was relieved when we finally reached the mausoleum, and judging by the expression on the Vicomte´s face he shared my opinion. He hurried up the steps and rapped at the door, but didn´t get in. It seemed to be locked. Turning toward me again he said: "She can´t be inside. So where is she?". It was an excellent question, yet I didn´t know the answer. Could it be possible that Christine simply wasn´t here? Had our oh-so-logical assumptions been wrong? I dreaded to imagine how much time we had wasted coming here. What if she had indeed been mugged and was lying in the gutter, freezing to death in that very moment? It was one of the first cold nights for quite a long time, reminding me that autumn was about to come.

"I found her! I nearly tripped over her!" My companion´s words brought me back to earth. He was kneeling at the side of the steps, next to what resembled a large bundle of rags. Yet as I came closer I realised that it actually was a person wrapped in a cloak. "Christine!", I cried, not caring that my voice gave away I was close to tears. I was so glad to see her. But what did the poor girl look like? Holding the lantern over her face I noticed it had a terribly white colour and her lips were blue. "She´s as cold as ice.", he whispered, touching her cheek softly. He sounded as scared as I felt. "Christine? Christine, you have to wake up now!", he said, shaking her shoulder gently. Yet she didn´t move. "Why doesn´t she wake up?", he asked me, a slight note of panic in his voice. Another one of those excellent questions I didn´t know the answer to…


	37. Chapter ThirtySeven

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

**September 9th 1892:** _Erik_

A moment later we were kneeling on either side of Christine´s small body, calling her name and shaking her shoulders. With every second that passed we grew more desperate. My mind was racing, but I simply couldn´t think of the right thing to do. I had accumulated so much knowledge over the years, and still nothing of it was useful in this situation.

The Vicomte seemed to feel just the same helplessness. A steady trickle of tears was running down his face, and he didn´t make an attempt to wipe them away or hide them from me. It was the latter fact that made me really worried. He apparently had lost even the most basic defence mechanisms. I was close to crying myself, but at least the tears had the decency not to leave my eyes yet.

At long last something happened: Her eyelids twitched ever so slightly. I wouldn´t have believed that such a small motion had the power to make two people so happy. "She´s waking up!", we assured each other breathlessly, smiling for the first time. Agonisingly slowly Christine opened her eyes. My head nearly bumped against my companion´s as we both leaned over her at the same moment.

She was looking to the right, so she saw me first. "Erik?", she whispered. "Yes, I´m here.", I replied, seizing her hand from under the cloak and squeezing it gently. "Christine, I´m so – " "I´m here as well.", the Vicomte called and grabbed her other hand. She moved her head into the other direction, muttering: "Raoul? You´re both here? But why?". "We were worried about you.", he explained, kissing her hand in a sweetish gesture that made me feel sick. "No one knew where you had gone and why you had left Antoinette behind."

Hearing her daughter´s name Christine seemed re-gain a little of her old energy. "Where is she?", she asked. "And where is Philippe? Did you bring them with you?" "Of course not.", I replied. "It´s past midnight. They´re at my house. Mme.Giry and Meg care for them." "Oh… that´s good…", she murmured, closing her eyes again. The short conversation seemed to have made her exhausted. "Then I can go back to sleep, can´t I?"

"No!", the Vicomte and I cried, almost at the same time. "You mustn´t fall asleep, Christine!" "…far too dangerous!" "Try to stay awake!" "It´s very important!" She obviously was rather confused by our anxious shouts, yet her eyes were open again. If I had been her, I wouldn´t have understood too much of them either, but she seemed to get at least the basic idea of what we tried to tell her. "I´m so cold…", she breathed. "It wasn´t that cold while I was sleeping…"

I exchanged a knowing glance with my companion. "We´ll get you to the coach now.", I said. "You can lie down there again and feel much warmer, I promise." Since we were both holding her hands we tried to pull her to her feet, only to discover that her legs were shaking too much to support her weight. She collapsed between us, the picture of misery. The solution was apparent: One of us had to carry her. She wasn´t very heavy, so it shouldn´t have been a big problem. Yet who would be the lucky one to carry her? I was aware that this question would be more complicated to answer.

"You´ll take the lantern, and I´ll take Christine.", he decided quickly. I was about to argue that I was capable of carrying her as well, but held myself back. Our stupid discussion on the way here had cost us precious minutes; I wouldn´t let that happen a second time. So I just nodded and helped him pick her up from the ground. She was heavier that I´d have thought. The tiredness seemed to be in her every bone, pulling her downwards. When I was sure he held her in his arms securely I seized the lantern and led the way back.

Not turning around I advised him: "Don´t let her fall asleep! Talk to her… tell her anything you want.". As soon as he started speaking, I regretted my words. "Why have you been at the opera? You haven´t been there for the last ten years. And why have you come here afterwards? If you felt like visiting your father´s grave, we could have done so together at day-time…"

I suppressed the strong urge to slap him in the face. Every time I thought he couldn´t act more foolishly he proved me wrong. The only way in which I could keep myself from pulling out the Punjab Lasso was telling myself that watching her husband die a violent death wouldn´t improve Christine´s health. "Do you really think those are the right topics now?", I asked through gritted teeth. "Shouldn´t you wait with all that till she´s feeling better?"

At least he seemed to understand a broad hint, for he changed the subject at once and began to ask questions about what their children liked playing at the moment. This was truly something he could need some pieces of information about. I could have answered as well, yet for some reason I doubted he´d have liked to have my replies. Christine´s condition was improving. I could hear her talk in a low, but steady voice. So she didn´t threaten to fall asleep again.

I should have been relieved, yet just the opposite was the case: The longer I listened to them, the more miserable I became. I felt lonely and left out. They were a couple, husband and wife, father and mother, and I was… no one, only the man holding the lantern. There was so much that made them belong together. But what made Christine and me belong together? Was there anything at all?

_Christine_

I felt better with every moment. My limbs were less numb; I could move my fingers without difficulties. And the chaos in my head was growing less as well. When I had been woken up I could have hardly thought straight, let alone formed coherent sentences. But now I could talk normally about everything I wanted, which made me incredibly relieved. Not being able to express myself had been a terrible feeling.

Snuggling up to Raoul as closely as possible I enjoyed the warmth coming from his body. I couldn´t see his face in the darkness, yet something in his voice told me he had cried. Certainly it had been a shock for Erik and him to find me like that. It occurred to me that I probably owed my life to the coachman because he had given me his cloak. I wouldn´t have believed how quickly a warm day could turn into a cold night.

Yet why both men were here was still a mystery to me. Erik had surely been alerted by Meg or Mme.Giry. But what about Raoul? Had the two women gone to him as well to get as much help as possible? Or had Erik…? Never! They hated each other. Mme.Giry had probably persuaded them to search for me together. Everyone knew how stubborn the ballet teacher could be.

Still there were so many things unclear, and my husband wasn´t the right person to ask. I wasn´t sure how much he knew himself. Judging by his questions about the opera and the idle chatting about our children Erik hadn´t let him in on our secret. Or had he done so and Raoul only wanted to hear it in my own words because he didn´t trust my former teacher? I simply couldn´t be certain about it.

"Christine?" Raoul´s voice made me stop pondering. "You haven´t spoken a word for minutes. Is everything all right? Are you still very tired? We´ve almost reached the coach." Indeed I could see the outline of the gate, illuminated by the lantern Erik carried. He opened it and let us pass before closing it behind himself. Erik… That was the solution. I reached out to touch his shoulder. "Erik? Could I talk to you for a moment? Alone?", I asked with a shy smile.

It was amazing how quickly the expression on his face could change: It had been serious before, but now he simply looked very pleased. "Of course.", he answered. Addressing Raoul he added: "You can lay her down in the coach and go to fetch the horse afterwards.". For a moment I was sure my husband would give a very unfriendly reply, yet he merely nodded and brought me to the coach without another word. I glanced at him apologetically, but he didn´t meet my eye.

When he was gone, Erik sat down next to me. "We don´t have much time.", I said urgently, whispering despite the fact that Raoul wasn´t here anymore. "How much did you tell him… about us?" "Nothing.", he replied simply. "That´s your job. I can help you, but at the end of the day no one else can do it for you." It was exactly the answer I had secretly dreaded.


	38. Chapter ThirtyEight

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

**September 9th 1892:** _Erik_

"Here we are," I said, tugging at the reins to make the horse stop. My words, combined with the sudden lack of motion, woke up the Vicomte. "But… we´re at our house," he muttered, peering outside. "I know it´s your house," I told him coolly. "That´s why I brought you here. What wrong about it?" It was amazing that this man possessed the unique talent of annoying me after barely a minute. Not even the new diva could do it that quickly.

Giving a yawn he replied: "We have to go to the opera and get the children first. They´ll be worried about us.". "They´re not worried – they´re certainly sleeping," I corrected him. "You can´t seriously want to wake them up at two in the morning and drag them out of my house, just to tell them everything´s all right with their mother." For a few moments he was silent; he had either fallen asleep again or was considering my words. I could only hope it was the latter. Having sat almost motionlessly in the coachbox for hours I felt every bone in my body and longed for arriving at home. The prospect of a crackling fire and a good glass of wine was becoming more appealing by the second.

At last he asked: "But where do the children stay in your house? I mean, Christine once told me you sleep in a… erm, a coffin.". Turning around in my seat I nodded. "That´s true. I also have a bed, though. Christine used to sleep there." That fact wasn´t exactly important at the moment. I just enjoyed watching him grow pale at the reminder of his wife´s past with me. Involuntarily he tightened his grip around her shoulders. Fortunately it wasn´t enough to disturb her sleep. "And there´s a sofa, too," I went on, trying to hide my smug smile. "I´m sure they´ll have found a nice, comfortable place."

"Do you also have enough food?" he wanted to know. "I have everything they need," I said shortly, before he could start asking me about every single item in my house. "I´ll take Antoinette to Mme.Tadoux in the morning, and Philippe can stay with – erm, he will go to his teacher as well, of course." Inwardly I groaned about my stupidity. The truth had almost slipped out of my mouth. It was a clear sign that I was getting tired.

He glanced at me curiously. "So you know who that teacher is?" he asked. "Christine makes such a big mystery out of it. It´s almost as if – " He interrupted himself, his eyes narrowing. I could practically see comprehension dawn on him. Then he uttered the question I had dreaded: "Are you his teacher?". I had no idea how to react. If I gave the truthful answer, it would only lead to many more awkward questions. But if I didn´t, it would make things even harder for Christine. I didn´t want her to deal with my lies as well as her own. Besides, if I told him now, his worst fury would be over by the time she´d wake up. So I took a deep breath and said: "Yes, I am his teacher.".

_Raoul_

At first I couldn´t believe my ears. My suspicion had been barely more than a vague guess, and having it confirmed like that was a shock. Thoughts flew to my mind rapidly, putting together a picture I didn´t like at all. It was a picture of Christine, the woman I was in love with since our childhood, and the Phantom, the man I had rescued her from. In my mind they were sitting together or lying in that bed he had mentioned so casually, kissing each other, laughing about me, her fool of a husband.

"So she has known that you were there for all those years," I hissed, thought I felt more like shouting. "You´ve met, haven´t you? You´ve met behind my back and you´ve… you´ve…" "It´s not the way it seems," he said calmly. I hadn´t even noticed that he had left the coachbox, but I saw him standing next to the coach now. He actually put a hand on my shoulder, muttering: "I´m not the right person to explain all this to you. It´s something Christine should do.".

Shrugging off his hand angrily I called: "Let´s wake her up then!". She had slept soundly for the entire journey, yet since our conversation had grown heated, she had already stirred a few times. I couldn´t wait any longer; I had to hear the whole truth. What else should I have done – gone to bed and pretended nothing had happened until the time she´d wake up by herself?

Yet before I could do more than remove my arm from her shoulders he seized my wrists in a firm grip. "You will not do that!" he snarled. "You will wait till morning. Then you´ll check whether she´s fine. If she´s not, you´ll call a doctor. And afterwards you´ll have plenty of time to talk to her. But I´ll be there as well. After all, this is about the three of us."

"Why should I do what you want?" I asked. This man would certainly not tell me how to treat my wife. I still had a tiny bit of hope that once I´d have talked to her, everything would be all right again, and I wouldn´t let that chance be spoilt by him. "Because I´ll stay at your house for the night and make sure you do," he replied. "There´ll surely be a free bed in one of your guestrooms, won´t there? I don´t even demand a coffin…"

I stared at him, unable to understand how he could be joking in a situation this serious. Didn´t he see that I was standing at the edge of an abyss that was getting deeper with every moment? Did he have to taunt me even more? "I don´t want you in my house," I muttered weakly, feeling very tired all of a sudden. "I want you to go and never come back." "I´m afraid that´s impossible," he said pleasantly. "I´m a part of your wife´s and you son´s life, whether you like it or not. And I will stay at her side because I promised her to. Understood?" He tightened his grasp so suddenly that I inhaled sharply.

I nodded reluctantly, knowing that I had lost. He let go of me at last. We both looked at Christine, but our discussion hadn´t disturbed her slumber. She was leaning against my side now. In silent agreement I seized her under the armpits and the Phantom wrapped his bony arms around her legs. Usually I´d have protested against him touching her in such an indecent way, yet today I was too upset to care. Who knew where else that man had already touched her?

We pulled her out of the coach, and I took her into my arms again to get her into our home, while he had to stay with the horse till someone would come and bring it to the stable. The entrance door opened before I had even turned the key. Jacqueline peered outside. "Oh, thank goodness you´re back!" she cried. "Is everything all right with her? We were so worried that we didn´t go to bed before we knew what happened."

As she opened the door a little more I saw Larisse and Jacques standing in the corridor as well. The cook looked just as anxious and exhausted as Jacqueline, whereas nothing indicated that my old servant had stayed up longer than usual or was worried about us. "Christine is fine," I informed them, causing the two women to sigh in relief. "She just fell asleep outside and is very cold now. Tomorrow she´ll feel much better. Larisse, could we get a hot-water bottle? Jacques, I know it´s not part of your normal job, but someone has to take the horse to its stable and give it hay and fresh water. And Jacqueline… could you prepare the guestroom at the far end of the corridor? The man who visited me this evening… he´ll stay for the night. Oh, and send a message to the opera, saying that we´ve found Christine alive and well." The servants nodded and walked away in different directions.

Christine didn´t even stir as I carried her up the stairs. She had merely buried her face at my shoulder the moment we had entered the house, probably to avoid the sudden brightness. I sighed deeply. Her body felt so good pressing against mine, so… normal, as if this was just an ordinary day. I recalled an evening one or two months after our wedding when we had come home very late. Christine had been so tired that I had carried her all the way to our bed, where she had shown me that she hadn´t been that tired after all. I had to bite my lip to keep me from shouting or bursting into tears… or maybe both. Our life had been so happy. What had gone wrong?

There was just one way to find out. But I had to wait for a little while, till everyone else was asleep. When we reached our bedroom I lay her down on the bed cautiously and removed her shoes and stockings. Then I fetched a nightdress and a pair of thick woollen socks and replaced the clothes she had worn before with them. Even these motions didn´t wake her up completely. She murmured a "Thank you…" and sank back onto the soft pillows. I covered her with the blanket and sat down at her side, watching her sleep. She looked so very pretty.

A few minutes later Larisse brought the hot-water bottle, and I placed it at Christine´s still rather cold feet. Now all I could do was wait. Anxiously I listened to the sounds in the corridor, checking my pocket watch every now and then. After an hour I had the impression that it was safe to do it. It was very quiet in the house. I had given the Phantom a guestroom far away from here; he wouldn´t hear anything. Besides, this was none of his business. If I wanted to talk to my wife at three in the morning, I would do so. I didn´t need anyone´s permission. "Christine?" I whispered. "Christine, wake up!"


	39. Chapter ThirtyNine

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

**September 9th 1892: **_Christine_

Opening my eyes slowly I saw Raoul gazing down at me expectantly. "Hmm…?" I made, suppressing a yawn. "Is something wrong?" I felt the soft mattress under my back and knew I was lying in our bed instead of the coach, while my husband sat next to me. Was it already morning and I had to get up? But no, that was impossible. The room was dark, except for the light of a lantern on the bedside table. So why did he have to wake me up?

"We need to talk," he said in a choked voice. "About him… and you… and… and everything." My eyes grew wide. ´No!´ someone inside me shouted. ´Not now! I didn´t have time to prepare myself for such a discussion. I need time… just a little more time…´ "Can´t we do this in the morning, Raoul?" I pleaded. "I´m still so tired. I have to –" "All you have to do now is answer my questions," he interrupted me. "I´m also tired, Christine, tired of waiting. I just want a few answers, then you can sleep again."

I nodded hesitantly and sat up. My arms were shaking slightly, yet compared to how weak I had felt on the graveyard my condition had improved. Raoul leaned over me to fetch his pillow and pushed it behind my back, so that I could sit more comfortably. Inwardly I breathed a sigh of relief. He was just as considerate and caring as usual. Maybe things wouldn´t be that bad after all.

Yet as he started speaking I knew it had been a mistake to rejoice this soon. "The Phantom told me he was Philippe´s teacher," he whispered, his voice sounding very hollow. "You never mentioned it with a single word. You lied to me, and I… I wonder about how many other things you lied as well. Do you remember all those nights when you were too frightened to fall asleep and I held you in my arms, repeating over and over that the Opera Ghost wouldn´t come to get you because he surely was dead? Did you already meet him behind my back at that time or did it start later?"

I couldn´t comprehend where such terrible accusations came from all of a sudden. "Yes, Erik is his teacher," I admitted. "But it´s not what you think. He only offered his services because… he has such a vast knowledge and no one to pass it on to. It would be a pity if all that was lost, wouldn´t it?" I smiled at him, hoping that somehow he´d be able to understand my reasons, yet he just gave a bitter laugh. "Oh yes! Which father wouldn´t be delighted if his son learned how to do _this_?" he called, tugging at the scarf he wore around his neck. As it came undone I gasped in shock, staring at the thin red line, so very similar to the one he had had more than ten years ago.

"This is what your dear friend did to me when I refused to listen to him!" Raoul cried. "I came home last night, and he sat in the living room, telling me a weird story about you running away from the opera. I didn´t believe him, so he nearly killed me… Of course it all makes sense now. I bet you had a secret meeting with him and ran away when someone saw you, right?" "No!" I whispered. "You cannot seriously believe that. It doesn´t make any sense. Why should I have gone to my father´s grave afterwards?" He shrugged. "Perhaps you wanted to tell him about the wonderful things you did with your… beloved."

That explanation made even less sense than the first one. Yet as I looked into his eyes I knew that telling him so would have been pointless. They were so full of sadness and disappointment that I nearly burst into tears. "Nothing has happened between Erik and me," I said. "Please, Raoul… you have to believe me." I stretched out my arms to embrace him, but he pushed me aside. "Any why should I do that?" he asked. "You´ve lied to me for years and years. Maybe… maybe you´ve never loved me at all. What was it then that made you marry me? The money? Weren´t 20,000 francs a month enough for you?" Uttering his last questions he had jumped up from the bed and was pacing the length of the room now. He was getting more agitated by the moment, and I had no idea what do to about it. If only Erik had been here! He could have helped me.

Watching him I muttered: "I never cared about money, and you know it. I´m here because I love you, Raoul. Did you hear it? I love you!". "Then why did you do all this behind my back?" he called "Why didn´t you come to me when the Phantom approached you with his wish to teach Philippe? We could have talked about it. We talk about everything."

Unexpectedly I felt anger well up inside me. "Since when do we talk about everything?" I cried. "You´re never home long enough to exchange more than a few sentences. The day all this started was Philippe´s fifth birthday. I begged you to stay at home, but you didn´t even ask why it was that important for me!" "So you began an affair with a man who hardly ever leaves the house at all!" he shouted "Very clever, Madame!"

"No!" I called yet again, jumping to my feet as well. The fury gave me the strength I needed. Slowly I understood why Erik had used the Punjab Lasso to make Raoul listen to him. At the moment I felt like doing the same. I marched over to my husband and seized his upper arms, thus forcing him to stop pacing. "I don´t have an affair with Erik, for Heaven´s sake!" I cried, my voice breaking. "But you have feelings for him, don´t you?" he hissed. "I can see it in your eyes."

Why did everyone have to ask that question? I was getting desperate for I simply couldn´t answer it. Letting go of him I murmured: "I´m not sure…". "Then make up your mind!" he yelled so loudly that I felt the urge to cover my ears with my hands. In the next moment he took a water jug from the table and threw it against the wall. I gave a shriek as thousands of pieces of glass flew in all directions. I looked at him in terror, afraid of what he might do next, but he only stood there, gazing at the wall. "I´m sorry, Christine. I didn´t mean to scare you," he said in a surprisingly soft voice. "It´s just… I´m so sick of all this. This isn´t a game. It´s about feelings, yours and mine and… and even…"

"…mine," Erik finished his sentence. None of us had heard him enter the room, yet with the chaos of the last minute that wasn´t astounding. "It was rather intelligent of you to let me sleep in a room that far away," he remarked. "Unfortunately it didn´t make any difference. You see, I have my very own methods of finding out what´s going on." Before he closed the door completely I could catch a glimpse of Jacqueline walking away.

I was relieved that he was with me at last. "Oh Erik, it´s so good that you´re here," I said. "Raoul wants me to make a decision about my feelings for you, but I can´t do that." I glanced at my husband, who had folded his arms in front of his chest defiantly. Suddenly I had an idea. "Couldn´t I come and stay with you for a while, just till I´m sure?" I asked Erik, ignoring Raoul´s glare.

Smiling slightly I approached my former teacher, glad that I had found a solution. Surely he´d understand why I couldn´t decide anything at the moment. He was so much more sympathetic than Raoul. Yet instead of pulling me into a comforting embrace he folded his arms in exactly the same gesture as my husband. "No, Christine," he replied. "I told you I´d help you, but I won´t support your wish to run away again. You can´t continue doing this for the rest of your life."

"But I… I thought you loved me…" I whispered. My vision grew blurred as my eyes filled with tears. Was no one on my side anymore? "Of course I love you," he said gently. "I´ve never loved anyone that much. But that´s just the point: I love you, and he… He pointed at Raoul. "… well, I guess he loves you as well." My husband nodded hastily. "If we didn´t love you, we wouldn´t care about your decision either," Erik went on. "Don´t you see, Christine? We want you to decide because it´ll make you feel better… even if it´ll be a decision against one of us." I looked from one man to the other, then to the door. Quickly Erik moved to stand in front of it. I was trapped.


	40. Chapter Forty

**Chapter forty**

**September 9th 1892:** _Christine_

Within moments the room grew considerably colder. At least it seemed to be like that for me. Erik and Raoul stared at me. The intensity of their gaze made me shiver. I wrapped my arms around my body, trying to get a little warmth from the only person I could still rely on: myself. "Can I think about my answer for a few seconds or do you demand it right now?" I asked, surprised by the bitterness in my voice.

"Of course you can think about it," Raoul replied. "We just don´t want you to run away again," Erik added. Since when did they agree about something? Ten years ago I´d have been pleased to see that they were in the same room for more than a minute without trying to kill each other, but in this particular situation I´d have preferred them to argue. Then I´d have had a chance that one of them would eventually be on my side. Yet now they were like a high wall, keeping me from breaking free.

Suddenly feeling very weak again I turned around to go back to the bed. It was much worse than the physical weakness I had experienced before. This time I felt a mental weakness, caused by the complete lack of hope that my situation would improve. My legs were shaking more strongly than ever. However, before I had taken more than two steps, a cry behind me made me stop and turn around again. "Be careful, Christine! The glass!" the two men called. As I looked down I saw that indeed the carpet was littered with the tiny pieces of the water jug my husband had smashed. "What do you care about splinters?" I wanted to know. "As long as I don´t get them into my mouth and are unable to speak, everything´s fine. That´s all you´re interested in, isn´t it?"

They exchanged a worried glance, as if they were afraid I could suit the action to the words. Quickly Raoul fetched a chair from the corner of the room, asking: "Why don´t you sit down here?". I did what he told me, mainly because I had no desire to end up with a splinter in my foot. Yet taking a seat I realised how much my perspective had changed: Now the two men looked even taller than usual and rather imposing with the serious expressions on their faces. They didn´t seem to feel like sitting down themselves. Maybe they knew about the effect they had on me: The longer I gazed up at them, the more I felt like a criminal with two jailers.

The moments passed slowly while we did nothing but look at each other. The silence finally became too much for one of us. "Well?" Raoul muttered. "What are _you _waiting for?" I wanted to know, more sharply than I had intended. "I thought matters were settled between us. Why are you standing here, watching me? I´ll tell you: You want to heat me reject Erik, so that you can have your victory a second time."

"That´s not true," he said, although a slight flushing of his cheeks showed me I wasn´t that wrong after all. "Nothing´s settled between us. I still don´t even know what the two of you did together." I had to acknowledge that this was a rather good point. Perhaps I´d at least manage to clear Raoul´s mind of that suspicion. "We didn´t have an affair," I assured him. "Nothing happened… well, almost nothing…" My voice trailed off uncertainly, but I forced myself to return his glance. For the first time in many years I´d be completely honest. I owed these two men at least that much.

Erik cleared his throat, and for a split-second the horrible image of him making up a fantastic affair crept up in my mind. Yet when I looked over to him nervously, he gave me a reassuring smile. "We only kissed," he stated. "And you can believe me that if there had been more, I´d be delighted to inform you about it." My husband seemed to consider his words for a moment, then he nodded. "You see, Raoul?" I muttered. "I wouldn´t have become unfaithful to you because I love you so much."

"There _has_ to be something between the two of you," he persisted. "You don´t kiss people who don´t mean anything to you… do you?" "No," I replied truthfully. "It´s rather complicated, though… Could you leave us alone for a while, Raoul? You´ve already got your part of the answer: I love you. The rest is… a private matter." He threw me a questioning glance, but a pleading smile made him leave the room, murmuring "I´ll be right outside.".

Now Erik and I were alone. Yet instead of being grateful he seized the handle of the door my husband had just closed behind himself. "I´ll go as well if you don´t mind," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "I already know what you´re going to tell me, and I also know I won´t like it. If it was something pleasant, you wouldn´t have sent the boy away." What kind of reply should I give him? He was right. Maybe letting him leave would have been better. But then, wouldn´t that be like running away, too? "You´ll stay here," I ordered. "You made it my task to say these things, so I´ll make it yours to listen to them." "All right," he muttered.

As he turned around again I was shocked to see that his whole face resembled a mask now. It was free from all emotions. Instinctively I knew he wouldn´t be able to maintain that façade of indifference for a long time. So I had to make it quick, for his dignity´s sake. "You mean a lot to me, Erik," I said gently. "You taught me so many wonderful things. You were there for me when no one else was…"

"But?" he asked, his lips barely moving. "But my feelings for you aren´t like those I have for Raoul," I admitted. "I did enjoy kissing you, though. It was… something different." He jumped as if I had hit him. "That´s all I was for you? A pleasant change from your routine?" he hissed. "Well, thank you very much!" Once more he grabbed the door handle. Quickly I stood up and rushed to him, not caring about splinters. Saving my relationship to Erik was far more important than my feet.

Placing my hand on top of his I muttered: "I didn´t mean it like that. Please, let me explain…". He nodded reluctantly. Being this close to him only made things harder for me. Still I didn´t pull my hand back, hoping that maybe the physical contact could comfort him a little. "I liked kissing you because I felt your love you me," I made a second attempt. "It was wonderful, and I… I guess I felt honoured because all that love was for me only. But I can´t return it. I already have a husband, and even though we sometimes argue, we´re happy. Perhaps… if circumstances had been different…"

"They´re not different," he said simply. "Spare me your speculations. Things are the way they are. You don´t love me. That´s all I need to know at the moment. Congratulations, Christine. You´ve finally made a decision." The thin smile he gave me was so sad that it cut into my heart. Squeezing his hand lightly I whispered: "I wish I could have told you something else. But that wouldn´t have been the truth. And you wanted to hear the truth, didn´t you?".

Erik merely nodded, moving his head just an inch up and down. Seeing the tears in his eyes I understood he couldn´t have talked without starting to cry. A certain tightness in my throat told me I´d do the same before long, but there was something I had to say first. "Of course you´ll stay Philippe´s teacher," I assured him, trying not to sound like an elderly lady offering sweets to a child who had grazed its knee. "Maybe Raoul will be opposed to it, but I won´t let him destroy your friendship to our son. Philippe loves you, Erik."

"I know…" he said in a barely audible whisper. "I just wished his mother would love me as well…" He turned away from me abruptly. Still I didn´t fail to notice the telltale shaking of his shoulders as he opened the door. This time I didn´t hold him back. I only asked: "Don´t you want me to kiss you goodbye?". "No," he replied. "I´d rather remember the kisses you gave me when I still thought there could be more between us." Then he left without a backward glance.

It seemed that Raoul had really waited in the corridor, for he entered the room just a moment later. "I told him that I don´t love him." I muttered in a flat voice. "Oh, that´s wonderful!" he exclaimed, a bright smile spreading across his handsome features. He wrapped his arms around me, yet before he could begin to spin me around he noticed I wasn´t smiling. On the contrary: There were large tears running down my face. "What´s the matter?" he asked. "Did he… do something to you? Or was it - ?" "No more questions, Raoul… please!" I pleaded. "Just hold me close, will you?" And that was what he did, while I wept and wept till the emptiness in my heart was filled with tears.

**Author´s note:** That must have been one of the most intense scenes I´ve ever written. Please don´t think I´ve made that decision easily. It was tough. By the way, the next chapter will be posted one or two days later than usual because I´ll be gone for the weekend. But there will be a next chapter. This is not the end, ladies and gentlemen!


	41. Chapter FortyOne

**Chapter Forty-One**

**September 9th 1892:**_ Erik_

I didn´t know how long I walked through the streets till I finally reached the opera. Sometime I opened the usual entrance door, and sometime later I was on the path down to the cellars. All the time I could only think of my conversation with Christine. Not even the tiniest bit of my mind paid attention to where I was going. It was good that I had walked here so many times before. Otherwise I might have lost my way in my own world.

She didn´t love me. I had told her this was the only thing I was interested in at the moment, and it was true. I hadn´t wanted to hear her hasty explanations of how much I meant to her as a friend; it wasn´t friendship I longed for. For all those years it had been my secret hope that one day she would love me. Now that hope had been destroyed mercilessly.

´You´re a fool!´ I scolded myself. ´How could you have ever thought she´d return your feelings? Have you forgotten who you are? _What_ you are? You should be grateful that anything happened between her and you at all instead of moaning about what you can´t have!´ Yet although I tried it, I couldn´t accept that opinion wholeheartedly, at least not yet. One day I´d perhaps be able to cherish the memories of good times with Christine, but at the moment the yearning for what could have been was too strong.

Maybe I shouldn´t have forced her to decide. Why hadn´t I realised that my chances to win had been slim from the very beginning? The Vicomte was the father of her children and her companion for many years. Besides… well, he was her husband. It was a legal bond, and though I was aware that this wasn´t very important for some people, I also knew Christine wasn´t one of them.

Still… there had been a few moments, precious moments which would be on my mind for a long time, which had given me hope. Our kisses had been so wonderful for me that it was hard to deal with the fact that they hadn´t meant the same to her. Apart from the time when she had taken the sedative and had hardly been herself pity had probably been her main motivation. What she, in her youthful innocence, had failed to understand was that she had only made things worse.

There were many negative emotions known to mankind, and I had experienced most of them. Yet nobody, no poet, composer or scientist, realised that the worst of them was not pain or grief, not even longing. It was hope. As terrible as it was not to get something one wanted, it was much more cruel not to get it after one had had a taste of how it could be. Perhaps the rejection would have been easier to bear if she had never let me come that close to her.

I was still lost in thought as I came to a halt in front of my home´s entrance door. There were a few reliable methods to make me stop pondering, and opening the door I decided that playing the organ would be the best option now. At least the loud music would make it impossible to think too much about something else. A few pieces by Mozart would be nice. I had always enjoyed Mozart when I was miserable. His fate was suitable for cheering me up. At least _I_ was in no danger of ever dying of syphilis.

Yet as I walked through the corridor, a voice coming from the living room drove Mozart from my mind. "M. le Fantome? It´s so good that you´re back. All we got was a little note saying Christine was fine. We´ve waited for such a long time for you to tell us the details!" For a moment I was taken aback. What was Meg Giry – and it was certainly her voice I had heard – doing in my house? Only slowly I recalled why she was here. I also recalled that she wasn´t the only person present in my usually so quiet home. My hope for a nice, comforting night faded away.

Entering the room I spotted the two Girys sitting on either side of the sofa. Between them lay Philippe, his head on Mme.Giry´s lap. Blond strands of hair covered half of his face. Still I noticed his eyes were closed. The ballet teacher seemed to have followed my gaze, for she said: "After dinner we put both children in the bed. Antoinette fell asleep almost immediately, but Philippe didn´t. He was too worried about what might have happened to his mother. So we took him back to the living room with us and allowed him to wait. He felt a bit better when Meg came back from a little stroll with the message, but he wanted to stay awake till you returned as well. Sleep finally overpowered him about half an hour ago.".

I nodded, only too aware of the expectant glances Meg kept throwing me. Although her mother´s method was far more discreet, I knew she was just as eager to find out what had been going on between Christine, her husband and me. Of course I could have simply refused to tell them anything. I could have even asked them to leave right now. But then, they had spent all night in my house, caring for the children, so that the three of us had had the time to sort things out. They deserved an explanation.

Having cleared my throat briefly I said: "The Vicomte and I found Christine at the graveyard in Perros and brought her back to Paris with us. She had grown very cold, but recovered quickly. When we returned to their home, she made the decision we all wanted her to make: She told me that she does not love me. That´s all.". I was aware that these few sentences wouldn´t be enough to satisfy the two women´s curiosity, but I couldn´t go on. Talking about it hurt so very much.

My words were followed by an uncomfortable silence. Little Meg was staring down at her hands, which she had folded in her lap. It was a rather extraordinary experience to see her lost for words for a change. But I didn´t expect her to say something anyway. After all, she hardly knew me. She was only involved in this story because she was Christine´s best friend. I found myself wishing that her mother would remain silent as well. Yet at the same time I knew it wasn´t very likely. She had always been a woman who uttered her thoughts.

After a few moments she muttered: "I´m very sorry.". She gave me a warm smile. For a second I was afraid she might be tempted to stand up and embrace me as a sign of sympathy. Fortunately the boy´s head on her lap kept her from such nonsense. "But at least you know the truth now," she went on in a sickeningly gentle voice. "There´s a positive aspect about everything, even if you can´t see it at the moment." Her mother´s remarks seemed to encourage Meg to make a useless comment as well, for she interjected: "Besides, I´m sure Christine still wants you to be her friend. She has always spoken very highly of you and – ".

"Enough!" I hissed. "I don´t need anyone to interpret my situation or to tell me how to deal with it. All I want is to be left alone!" I turned on my heel and stormed out of my home and along the path I had walked down just a few minutes ago. I couldn´t bear being in the same place as other people now; I didn´t want sympathetic glances or good advice. But I also couldn´t throw the Girys out of the house, not with the little ones sleeping. So I had to leave myself.

Quite automatically my feet carried me to the roof. It always was a good place for pondering. Up here I was alone, but I didn´t feel lonely. There were millions of stars above me. At least, that was what it usually was like. Today it was too late… or should I have said ´too early´? The stars were already fading. Soon the new day would be here. Giving a deep sigh I sat down on my favourite spot.

Many people considered dawn as something positive, as a symbol of change. For me it had never been like that. In my life change had usually been for the worse. Still I had never given up. But now I felt terribly empty. There was no strength left in me to go on. I couldn´t even cry. I merely sat there, rocking back and forth slightly. So much pain I had endured over the years, yet this was the worst.

I dreaded to imagine what life without Christine would be like. Admittedly I hadn´t been with her too often, at least not in the sense that she had known I was there. But I had known almost everything about her, and it had given me a certain sense of security. ´One day´, I had told myself. ´I´ll be an actual part of her life again, and I´ll use my knowledge to treat her just the way she likes it best.´

And now? Why should I bother to observe her anymore? What difference did it make which dresses she wore or when she ate dinner? I´d never need those facts because I´d never be part of her life. Without Christine I was reduced to a mere shadow. But I didn´t want it to be like that. Every fibre of my being protested against me becoming nothing but a phantom again. Maybe it would be better to end it right now. All I had to do was take a dozen steps forwards, then it would be over. I´d be scraped off the pavement, and nothing would change. No one needed me anyway.

"There you are, Uncle Erik!" Completely puzzled I turned my head and saw Philippe walking towards me. I came to my feet hastily and approached him. It was only when I held his hand safely that I settled down again, the boy on my lap. "What are you doing here?" I asked softly. "Aunt Antoinette brought me here," he gave the reply I had expected. "She´s standing just over there…" He craned his neck, then shook his head. "No, now she´s gone. You know, I woke up because someone slammed a door. I hoped it were you coming back. Aunt Antoinette told me that you had had an argument with Maman, which made you so sad that you left again. I wanted to see if you´re better."

"I´m much better," I assured him, and in this one moment it was true. To my own surprise I realised that I had missed him, the sound of his voice and the feeling of his little hand in mine. "Would you like to watch the sunrise with me?" I whispered. He nodded, snuggling up to me closely. I wrapped my cloak around both of us, for it was still rather cold.

We only had to wait for maybe a quarter of an hour before the sky´s colour began to change. Gradually it became lighter, and finally the first rays of sunshine announced the new morning. "Where do all those pretty colours come from?" Philippe wanted to know, pointing at the different shades of purple, lilac and blue. "Well, in ancient mythology all that is the work of the goddess Eos or Aurora. Every morning she opens the gate of heaven and flies across the sky, following her sister Selene, the moon, and being followed by her brother Helios, the sun," I explained readily. "Will you tell me more about them?" he asked. "Of course," I replied, squeezing his hand lightly. There were still so many stories I could tell him.


	42. Chapter FortyTwo

**Chapter Forty-Two**

**September 9th 1892: **_Christine_

Although I had read the message several times already, I felt as if I hadn´t taken in a word of what it said. Maybe that was because the loud and obnoxious delivery boy had woken me up from a deep slumber. It was almost noon, and still I wasn´t well rested. Holding the sheet of paper in front of my eyes again I re-read the few lines.

_Christine,_

_I´d like to have Philippe with me for the next days. With the new production there are a lot of things to be arranged and supervised. The lessons he´ll learn will be of immense value to him. Therefore it is imperative that my boy stays with me by day as well as by night. I will take good care of him. _

_Erik_

Slowly the pieces of information began to sink in. Erik wanted Philippe to be with him for a few days because he planned to extend their lessons. That much I understood. Yet what truly shocked me was how business-like the message sounded. I could almost feel the cold coming from the piece of paper permeate my skin, making me shiver. The choice of words reminded me of the notes he had sent to the managers. And why hadn´t he even written ´Dear Christine´?

But then, what did I expect? I had rejected him. He had offered me his heart on a silver plate, and I had trod on it. Perhaps this was better than having him hurl insults at me. If the coldness was his way of dealing with the situation, I´d have to accept it. After all, it was not as if I could show him a better one.

Quite suddenly I was seized by a wild urge to see him. I could read the sadness behind the formal tone, and it made me even more miserable than I already was. Erik shouldn´t feel like that. Maybe I could talk to him and explain things… "Don´t be ridiculous!" I muttered under my breath. "If you went to him, you´d raise his hopes, only to destroy them again! You´re surely the last person he wants to see at the moment."

But who else did he have? I hated the thought that he was sitting at his organ, playing a depressing melody while tears trickled down his face and onto the keys. Someone had to help him, and that someone could not be me. Perhaps I should talk Mme.Giry into going down to his lair and check whether he was all right – or as all right as he could be under the given circumstances. Or else…

My gaze wandered down to the note I still held in my hand, and suddenly everything fell into place. Of course! Erik himself had told me who he needed: Philippe. The new production was just an excuse, used to disguise the fact that he wanted my son to be with him for a while in order not to be lonely anymore. I simply had to grant him this wish. It was the least I could do for him.

Having arrived at that conclusion I already felt a little better. My guilty conscience, which had tormented me all night, had grown considerably lighter. I sat down at my dressing table and examined myself in the mirror. Given the facts that I had spent hours on a cold graveyard and hadn´t slept well afterwards I didn´t look too bad. True, I was a bit pale and my hair was dishevelled, yet those problems could be solved easily.

Fifteen minutes later I had washed my face with lavender soap and warm water from a bowl Jacqueline had brought me. The traces of tears had vanished, and my cheeks were rosy. I was just combing my hair, trying to decide whether to tie it together into a bun, when Raoul entered the room. Seeing his reflection in the mirror I turned around to face him.

"Since when do you come in without knocking?" I asked instead of a proper greeting. "For all you knew I could have still been sleeping." "Well, as I heard you call for Jacqueline, I figured you had to be awake. You rarely do that in your sleep," he pointed out sensibly, but with a slight grin. "Are you angry at me now?" "Of course I´m not," I replied in a soft voice. "It´s good to see you." He hadn´t been there when I had woken up, and I had been afraid he might be gone for the entire day. Somehow I didn´t like being alone at the moment.

Raoul gave me his most dazzling smile. "In this case we should start this conversation again," he decided. "Why don´t you begin with ´Where have you been all morning, love?´?" "Where have you been all morning, love?" I repeated like a good girl, although I couldn´t quite understand why he made me ask such a question. Surely he had been with one or several of his business partners. That was what he always did.

"I met M.Levarne… you know, the tall bald man with the bushy eyebrows," he answered, adding the usual brief description as a reminder of who he was referring to. With the dozens of men I only saw on social events and similar occasions every now and then it was difficult to have an overview. Yet M.Levarne was one of the few whose face I recalled quickly, for he had even been to dinner with us a couple of times. Raoul often called him his right-hand man. "And what did he want?" I asked, not sounding too enthusiastic. When people wanted my husband to invest money in their projects, they went to M.Levarne, who in turn had to present each and everything to Raoul. A meeting with him was usually followed by even more work.

I could hardly keep myself from glaring at my husband, judging him before he had as much as confirmed my suspicion. Not even twelve hours ago I had decided for him, and his way of thanking me was leaving me alone. Didn´t he see that I needed him? I wanted him to be there for me, to show me I had made the right choice. Had he only come back to tell me he was going away again?

Yet that didn´t seem to be true, for he replied: "He didn´t want anything. I was the one who had asked him for a meeting.". I looked at him sceptically. So he was positively searching for more work now? That didn´t sound good at all. But before I could say anything, he had already continued: "I told him he´ll have more responsibility in the future. He´s a good man and has worked for me long enough to know which kinds of projects are interesting for me. From now on he´ll make a pre-selection and only show me the most promising ones.".

I threw him a questioning glance. All that seemed to be very nice for M.Levarne, but I wasn´t sure why Raoul was so excited about it. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet and looked down at me expectantly. When I didn´t react right away he called: "Don´t you understand what this means for us, Christine? I won´t have to spend hours talking about boring projects, and I won´t have to be away from Paris for days because M.Levarne will do that work. It means I´ll have more time for the family… for us!".

Now comprehension dawned on me with the speed of lightning, and I smiled. His good mood spread on me quickly. The sombre thoughts of Erik left my head, at least for the moment. "Those are delightful news," I said. He leaned down and kissed the tip of my nose briefly, in the same loving way he had often done it at the start of our relationship. "I´ve only done this for us," he whispered. "Last night I realised how much I don´t know about the children and you, but that´ll change. From now on everything will be better."

When he straightened up again the moment of seriousness seemed to be over. "Let´s go out and celebrate!" he suggested. "I´ll take you to lunch in the best restaurant in Paris. Or would you prefer a small café? We´ll go wherever you want." Laughing I turned around again. "Just give me a minute for combing my hair and getting dressed," I muttered, mentally already rummaging through my drawers, searching for the right dress.

"I´ll help you," Raoul offered, picking up the comb and waving it around in the air with enthusiasm. I reached for it, trying to save my curls from this attack, when the comb suddenly fell out of his hand and landed on the carpet. He had seized the item that had been under it on the dressing table: the note from Erik. "Christine," he said in a deadly calm voice. "What is this?"


	43. Chapter FortyThree

**Chapter Forty-Three**

**September 9th 1892:**_ Christine_

Staring at my husband´s face I fervently wished I had the ability to turn back time. If only I had hidden the note when he had entered the room! Given the cheerful mood he had been in, it wouldn´t have been difficult to persuade him to let Philippe stay with Erik for a few days. Yet now that cheerful mood seemed to be gone for good. Anxiously I watched him skim the short message, knitting his brow.

"So you´re already communicating with him again," he stated after a few moments. "Did you have the intention to tell me about his request? Or were you planning to give your permission without even informing me?" He glanced at me so angrily that I shrunk back in my seat. Still I tried to reason with him. "You´ve only come home a few minutes ago," I pointed out. "Of course I´d have told you about the note he sent me, but would you have liked to hear about it right away, when you had such good news for me?"

He seemed to consider my words carefully, then the expression on his face softened. "You´re right," he muttered, giving me a sheepish smile. "It´s just… with all that happened yesterday… I overreacted." "I can understand that," I assured him, reaching up to pat his arm. A little voice at the back of my head kept whispering that all that had gone much too smoothly for the peace to last very long, but I didn´t pay attention to it.

"Do you want us to talk about Erik´s message now? Then we could send him the answer before we go to lunch," I suggested. I was eager to get Raoul involved into making a decision concerning our son, even though my opinion was clear. Yet to my surprise he threw me a puzzled glance. "There´s not much to talk about, is there?" he said in an offhanded way. "A simple ´never´ should be enough."

I frowned. "What do you mean by ´never´?" I asked cautiously, aware that we were treading on dangerous grounds. "I mean that there´s no way in which I´ll allow Philippe to stay with that man any longer than necessary," Raoul explained with forced calm. "It´s bad enough that he´s his teacher. I´ve accepted that, but don´t expect me to make any more concessions."

"Please, Raoul…" I whispered, gazing into his eyes deeply. That behaviour, combined with a soft, pleading voice, had often had the desired effect in the past. "Erik loves Philippe, and Philippe loves Erik. Isn´t it nice that our boy has another grown-up friend, after I had to dismiss Marielle?" Instead of a reply my husband read the note a second time. When he looked up again, his face was almost as white as the sheet of paper. "´My boy´," he murmured. "He actually calls my son _his boy_!"

As he lowered the note I was able to spot the expression he was referring to. I myself hadn´t even noticed it before. The letters began to dance in front of my eyes because his hand was trembling so badly. Quickly I seized it. "Christine, you told me nothing happened between him and you, didn´t you?" Raoul muttered, his voice shaking as well. "Then why does he call him ´his boy´? _Is _he his boy?"

That suspicion nearly took my breath away. It was utterly absurd. But then, I couldn´t blame him for not trusting me anymore. "Of course Philippe isn´t his son," I stressed, fervently trying to think of a way to prove I was right. At last my gaze stopped over our bed, where a large portrait of our family hung. "Just look at the painting for a moment!" I went on, pointing at it with my other hand. "Don´t you remember what the artist said while working on the sketches? ´It´s amazing. I´ve rarely seen such a resemblance between father and son.´."

He turned around, studied the portrait and nodded briefly. "That´s true," he muttered. "Still…" I knew I had to act quickly, before he´d grow even more suspicious. It was time for the entire truth. Pressing his cold hand against my cheek I explained: "Erik only calls him his boy because… there´s something I haven´t told you yet. Our son isn´t just his pupil, but also his… his heir. That´s why he wants him to learn so much about the opera and the way it works. Once Erik… won´t be there anymore, Philippe will inherit his… world…". My voice trailed off. I had the terrible impression that I had said too much… or maybe not enough.

"What?" Raoul asked incredulously. He sank down on the footstool next to my chair while he continued talking. "This cannot be true… I´m the descendant of one of the wealthiest families in Paris, and still you prefer my only son to inherit the fortune a madman has acquired with the help of murder and theft… Christine, tell me this was just a bad joke… please!" He pulled his by now warm hand away from my cheek and took mine instead, pressing a soft kiss to it.

His hopeful glance almost broke my heart. I hated to disappoint him, but lying wasn´t an option either. I had begun with the truth, so I´d also go on with it. "I´m not joking," I told him quietly. At once he wanted to let go of my hand, yet I held onto him tightly. He would listen to me, just like Erik had done last night… whether he liked it nor not. "Before you start shouting or run out of the room, try to see things from Erik´s point of view!" I said, placing the index finger of my other hand over his lips as soon as he opened his mouth, undoubtedly to argue that he had better things to do.

"There´ll be enough time for talking later," I assured him. "Now I´d like you to imagine you were Erik… only for a minute," I added as I noticed the annoyed expression on his face. He rolled his eyes, but moved his head in a way that could be interpreted as a nod. I took a deep breath, perfectly aware that my words had to be chosen carefully. It was a small miracle that he had agreed to listen at all. I wouldn´t get a second chance.

"You´re a very lonely old man," I started softly. "Every day you wander around in your world, and it makes you sad to know that all this, everything you created with your own hands, will crumble and decay soon because there´s no one you could pass it on to. And there´s so much knowledge in your head, and it will be lost forever. Maybe some facts among it are so special that nobody except you has ever heard of them…"

I stopped for a moment and looked up from our hands to make sure Raoul was still paying attention. His eyes were closed. A wave of disappointment washed over me. Hadn´t he heard any of what I had said? Yet just a moment later he squeezed my hand lightly. "Go on!" he encouraged me in a friendly voice, and I realised that this was his way of concentrating on my words.

So I continued, a smile on my face. "And then, in the midst of all the despair and sadness, you remember the promise your student has given you years ago, the promise to let her first son become your heir. Suddenly you´re no longer afraid of dying without leaving anything behind. This boy is your one chance. Of course you want to see him, so you start visiting him in his home when his parents aren´t there. Over the years you realise that you love the boy as if he were your own son, and he returns those feelings. This makes you very happy, maybe happier than you´ve ever been before. But some weeks after you´ve become his teacher you have to endure a terrible rejection, and the only thing you can still hold onto is the boy´s love…"

Although I swallowed hard and blinked several times, I couldn´t hold back the tears that threatened to trickle down my face. The images I had conjured up for Raoul had been so vivid that they had affected me as well. Opening his eyes he noticed the state I was in at once and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. Tenderly he wiped away the tears. "You are Philippe´s father, Raoul, and no one will ever question that," I whispered. "But Erik is very important for him as well… and it also works the other way round! Erik needs the boy to keep him company… to get over what happened between us. It´ll be just for a few days…"

"I hope you don´t expect me to pity him now." were his first words, and they made me afraid I hadn´t achieved anything. "I can´t feel pity for a man who killed my brother. But you managed to make me understand him… a little. Besides, my family´s happiness is the most important thing in the world for me. If you think Philippe would enjoy some days with him…" "I´m sure he would," I said quickly, breathing a sigh of relief. "And about the heritage - " "Let´s not talk about it now," he interrupted me. "That´s something I still have to consider." "Of course," I muttered. It was only natural that he couldn´t accept everything right away. I was more than willing to give him the time he needed.

I was about to stand up and leave the room, just in case he wanted to think about it right now, when he held me back. "I´m not finished with you," he said fiercely. Yet noticing the sparkle in his eyes I knew he wasn´t angry. He only looked like this when he had a good idea. "Could Jacqueline care for Antoinette alone for a while?" he asked. "Yes, of course she could," I replied hesitantly, not sure what the intention behind his question was.

"So it would be possible for a mother and a father who spent far too little time together in the last weeks to leave the city and go to… their house in Nice, for example?" Now he was beaming at me, and I returned the smile wholeheartedly. It was a wonderful idea. "That would be possible for them… and I´m certain the mother would love to do it," I said. "Then I´ll make all the necessary arrangements after lunch," he announced. "Why don´t you write the answer to… erm, Philippe´s teacher and I´ll talk to Jacqueline and check whether the coach is ready to depart?" he suggested, getting up from his seat. "I feel as if we had even more to celebrate now…" Watching him leave the room I couldn´t help thinking that he was right. I had fought a battle, and I had won.


	44. Chapter FortyFour

**Chapter Forty-Four**

**September 9th 1892: **_Erik_

"And this… is Box Five." I opened the door with an exaggerated gesture and entered the box after my little pupil. A satisfied smile appeared on my face as he looked around everywhere. When he had first come to me he had always asked politely before doing so. But by now he had understood that I supported his curiosity. Unlike most people, I thought it a very positive character trait. Yet Philippe also knew his limits. He'd have never touched an object in my study without my permission. That sensibility couldn't often be found in a boy of his age. It was the combination of the two that made me glad he had a good teacher. With a bad one the balance could have easily got lost.

Philippe's delighted call interrupted my musings. "I can see the whole stage!" "That's the point of being here," I explained, suppressing a chuckle about his enthusiasm. It had been just the right time for the first big tour through the opera. "People pay a lot of money for sitting in the boxes. They are far more comfortable than the rest of the auditorium. You have more freedom for your legs… and an excellent view on stage, although you'd be surprised about how many people think the former to be more important."

He sat down at once, stretching out his little legs. "You were right, Uncle Erik. Yet now I can hardly see a thing anymore," he then complained, craning his neck. "That's because unfortunately this place isn't meant to be visited by children. I'm always alone here, you know. Tonight there'll be an additional cushion for you to sit on," I promised. "Tonight?" he echoed, glancing up at me in surprise. I nodded. "It won't be an actual performance, just a dress rehearsal, which means that everyone will sing and dance while wearing his or her costume. And we will watch."

"But surely Maman will be worried if I'm not home for dinner," he argued, looking from me to the stage and back. It was clear that he'd rather have attended the rehearsal. It was far more interesting than eating dinner. Yet I could also understand his concern about his mother. I had already answered countless questions about whether she was truly all right and about what had made her run away, and I wondered if Christine knew what a chaos her irrational behaviour had caused in the sensitive boy. "If things work out the way I want, that won't be a problem," I replied, trying to sound casual rather than worried. I had sent a message to Christine in the morning, and it was early afternoon now. Why did she let me wait for the answer for such a long time?

Looking at me wide-eyed he asked: "What things? What did you do? Has it something to do with Maman?". He seemed almost anxious, and I cursed myself for having mentioned it in the first place. It hadn't been my intention to make him distraught. Yet now that I had started, I had to continue explaining. I couldn't leave him in the dark with his fears. "I asked your mother in a letter whether it would be possible for you to stay with me for a little while," I answered. "Tonight's dress rehearsal will be the basis for a lot of work for the two of us. Besides, I thought you might like being with me." Only now it occurred to me that maybe I should have asked him before sending the message to Christine.

Yet to my relief he apparently was fond if the idea indeed. "I like helping you. It's nice," he stated. "But has Maman already said yes?" "Not yet," I replied. "She surely has to discuss it with your father first." The expression on my face grew very serious as I imagined such a conversation. I was aware that he was the main obstacle. Christine might have been reluctant to let her son stay with me, but I was confident she'd agree in the end, if only because of her guilty conscience. Her husband, however, was a completely different matter. I could hardly think of a way in which he'd approve of my wish.

Philippe obviously sensed my discomfort, for he didn't say anything about the subject. It was so quiet that a knock at the door of the box made both of us jump slightly. I approached it quickly, curious to see who it was. Usually no one dared disturb me in Box Five… at least not twice. Perhaps somebody had to be taught a lesson. At once my hand wandered under my cloak and pulled out the Punjab Lasso.

I opened the door inch by inch and came face to face with none other than Mme.Giry. "Oh, do put that thing away!" she said in an annoyed voice. If she had been a less respectful person than she was, she'd have probably rolled her eyes. Quickly I tucked away the Lasso, feeling a bit stupid. "What brings you here, Madame?" I asked. "Do the managers want to talk to me again? Tell them I don't have time for their childish complaints now – Philippe is with me." I gestured at the chair from which he was just standing up.

"Bonjour Madame," he greeted the ballet teacher, making a little bow. I smiled, very content with his manners. "Bonjour Philippe," she said. "At first I didn't even notice you were there. Those chairs have a rather high back. Maybe you should think about getting another one… But that's not why I'm here. I have a message for you, Erik, and it's not from the managers. A boy delivered it to the opera, yet he wasn't sure where to put it, so I offered to take it to you. Well, I was on stage and saw you in Box Five. That's why I've come here."

I threw her a suspicious glance. It wasn't like Mme.Giry to do deliveries. I assumed that she had wanted to find out how I was doing after my outburst last night. If it had been possible, she'd have perhaps even questioned Philippe. Yet the moment I spotted the handwriting on the envelope all those things grew unimportant. "Thank you very much," I muttered, snatching the letter out of her hand. "Goodbye." With these words I closed the door again.

"That wasn't polite, Uncle Erik," the boy remarked. "It's not nice to shut the door into someone's face." Most people wouldn't have survived such a reprimand. Yet turning around and looking into his honest blue eyes I realised something: I was no longer alone with him. As soon as we were surrounded by others he inevitably started drawing parallels to the life with his family. I'd have to pay even more attention to my behaviour than I had done before. Otherwise _I_ might spoil his manners. I would have expected that thought to make me angry, for I didn't like being controlled. But it made me strangely happy. It was a good kind of responsibility. "You're right," I told him. "Sometimes other things just appear more important than politeness for a moment. You see, this is your mother's reply."

Without further ado I sat down on the nearest chair and opened the envelope. I didn't mind Philippe standing next to me and looking at the letter while I was reading. His own ability to do so still left a lot to be desired. But then, that was normal after just a few weeks´ practice. Besides, even if his skills had been better, he probably wouldn't have been able to read Christine's fancy writing.

With every line my heart grew lighter. So she had persuaded the Vicomte after all. Sure, the holiday was a catch, but at the moment I was willing to overlook it. It had certainly been his condition for agreeing. "What does she write?" Philippe asked excitedly. "She allows you to stay here," I answered. "In fact, your father and she will use the time while you're not there to go on holiday. They'll be back in five days. Oh, and there's also a postscript – That is the last paragraph here, see? – addressed to you. It says that if you miss your home a lot, you can come and stay with Jacqueline and Antoinette till your parents are back."

He shook his head, making the blond curls fly. "I'd rather be with you," he told me. "I don't even like being alone with them for an afternoon. They talk about boring things all the time and only play what Antoinette wants. She says that Jacqueline is her maid and not mine, so she can decide about everything." Giving a little sigh he admitted: "I miss Marielle. She was always there when I needed her.".

"Now I'm there for you," I reminded him gently. "I promise that I'll take good care of you till your parents´ return… and afterwards as well, of course." "I know," he whispered. "I love you, Uncle Erik." Before knew what was happening, he had pressed a brief kiss to my left cheek. "Are you going to show me all the other rooms now?" he then asked, as if he had done nothing special. "Why don't you go outside and wait for me there? I'll be with you in a moment." I replied, and he followed my instructions. When he was gone, I took a deep breath. Since Philippe had become my pupil I had learned to explain many things; his thirst for knowledge made sure of it. Yet today I'd have failed. How should I have explained the tears in my eyes?


	45. Chapter FortyFive

**Authors note: **I've just noticed we've reached 200 reviews. Thank you so much!

**Chapter Forty-Five**

**September 9th 1892:**_ Erik_

The concept of time had always fascinated me. Often it seemed to crawl, maybe because I spent so much of my days waiting for something to happen. Today, however, it was working in exactly the opposite direction: I hadn't even shown Philippe a third of the opera's many rooms when I looked on my pocket watch and realised we had to stop.

"I'm afraid we'll have to continue this another time," I said, earning a disappointed glance. "But I like it so much," the boy muttered. "Hidden doors, secret corridors – it's exciting." He brushed a little dust off his shoulder and shook his curls. We had just emerged from a passageway, and getting a bit dirty was natural. I was glad it didn't seem to bother him too much. It was impossible to avoid while walking my usual paths. Maybe I should consider purchasing a fedora like mine for him. It kept the dust out of my face. Besides, I was rather fond of the idea.

Looking into his shining eyes I nearly grew weak. I pulled myself together just in time to reply: "All these things will still be there tomorrow. But we have to go to the market and buy food before the stalls close. And afterwards we'll fetch a few things from your home. We can't let you wear the same clothes for five days, can we?". "Oh… all right," he agreed, taking my hand. "We can go."

We weren't far away from the entrance hall, so it only took us a few minutes till we left the building behind us. Two or three of the opera's coaches were always standing in the street, waiting for someone to use them. I approached the first one quickly. There was no time to lose; the sooner we got away, the sooner we'd be back. "Good afternoon," I said to the coachman, who appeared to be sleeping with his eyes open. "My little companion and I would like to go to the market. Can you take us there?"

The man turned his head slowly. The bored expression on his face turned into one of panic as he realised who his future passenger was. "O-of course, M. le Fantome! Of course…" he muttered, leaving the coachbox with amazing speed and pulling open the door. "Take a seat, please!" I helped Philippe over the high steps and sat down next to him. Just a moment later the ride began.

"That man is strange," the boy told me in a whisper. "He acts as if… as if he were afraid of you." "Yes, well…" I murmured, not at all sure what to say. The truthful answer would have been that all coachmen behaved like that since one of them, who had been unfriendly to me, had woken up the next day to find his coach burned down and his horse cantering down the street. But that was a story Philippe was a little too young for. I was glad that we reached the market in this moment. "I'll explain it later," I said hastily.

Having told the coachman he should wait for us I left the coach and helped the boy out as well. I took a deep breath and pulled the brim of my hat into my face. Outside the opera it was difficult for me to maintain my calm self-confidence. It was one thing to lurk in the shadows and watch others, but here I'd face many people at the same time. I hadn't done so for quite a while. Usually I had food delivered to the opera, and many other things could easily be bought at night if one knew the right places. But such a market in broad daylight… As much as I hated to admit it, I was frightened.

"Uncle Erik… you're hurting me," Philippe complained in a low voice. Glancing down I noticed that my grip around his hand had grown much too strong. Smiling apologetically I loosened it. "I don't like being around other people," I said softly. "And they don't like me either." "But why not?" he asked. "You're so nice." For the third time on this day I was lost for words. I was saved having to answer by the first stalls coming into earshot. "Later," I whispered once again.

We spent barely an hour on the market, yet to me it felt like days. All people treated me with the same hectic friendliness. Other customers were pushed aside, as if letting me wait would sentence all of them to death. All in all I felt as if I weren't a human being, but a barrel of gun powder ready to explode any second. The worst thing about it were the sympathetic glances at Philippe. A few men even seemed to think I had abducted him; my excellent hearing enabled me to listen to their whispered conversation.

Putting the bags with fruit and vegetables, meat and bread, butter and milk into the coach I couldn't help giving a sigh of relief. Hopefully the visit to Christine's house would be more pleasant. If only she and her husband were already gone! In the letter it had said they'd leave today, but what if she had meant the evening? I didn't want to see her. It would have been a lie to claim I was feeling wonderful at the moment, yet at least I had the impression that life could go on like this. Meeting Christine would have meant talking to her, possibly hurting her feelings or mine. I simply wasn't ready to come face to face with her.

The ride was short and silent, for each of us seemed to be busy with his own thoughts. A minute or two after it had begun I noticed Philippe was dozing. The little sleep he had had the previous night was taking its toll. As we stopped in front of the right house, I was glad to see no other coach was here. It had been one of my secret fears that we might arrive and watch them packing, a happy couple on the way to a holiday just for the two of them. The thought made me slightly sick. Fortunately I didn't have to endure that sight.

The door was opened just a few seconds after I had knocked. "Oh, it is you, Monsieur, Jacqueline greeted me, curtseying. "I'm afraid to tell you that Madame has already departed." "Very good," I said shortly, trying to ignore her surprised glance. "I've come here to get some clothes for the boy. I guess you know he'll stay with me till his parents come back." "Of course," she muttered. "Madame told me about it when she asked me to care for Antoinette. But where is Philippe?" "In the coach," I replied. "He has fallen asleep, and I didn't want to wake him up."

She nodded and took a step backwards. I regarded it as an invitation and entered the house. "Would you like to drink a cup of tea while I fetch his things?" she asked. "I'd just have to make it first. It's the cook's afternoon off, and Jacques isn't here either. Antoinette is still at her teacher's house. We're… all alone." The next moment she clapped a hand over her mouth and stared at me in horror, as if she had just revealed a terrible secret. She walked a few more steps backwards, and I realised that she didn't want to turn her back on me.

I sighed deeply. If I had ever forgotten why I didn't leave the opera more often, the past few hours would have reminded me of the reasons. "Have I ever harmed you in any way, Jacqueline?" I wanted to know. "Or have I done something to your sister? Has Philippe complained about me?" "N-no," she admitted, looking down at the floor. "You've always been friendly to me, and my sister has never even seen you. And the boy… he likes you anyway. It's just… all those rumours one hears at the opera… Clarille tells me about them…"

"I do not want to hear them," I said firmly. "Just keep in mind that without me your sister wouldn't be able to become a dancer." "Of course, Monsieur. We're very grateful for your generosity," she muttered. "Go and get the clothes now!" I ordered; her constantly bowed head made me suspect she'd start kissing my feet before long. "I'll wait here if my presence bothers you that much." I didn't have to repeat my request. The words had barely left my mouth when she was hurrying up the stairs.

She returned a few minutes later, carrying a small suitcase. "Tell Philippe he can always come here if he needs something," she murmured, still not daring to look at me. Nodding I took it out of her hand and made my way back to the coach. "Goodbye!" I called over my shoulder, but she had already closed the door. It was a good thing that I wasn't easily offended. I entered the coach quickly, longing to get home at last.

By the time we reached the opera Philippe had woken up again, but he was still a little sleepy. "I'll cook a wonderful dinner in my house," I promised, lifting him out of the coach. "And then we'll go to the dress rehearsal." "Oh yes," he said, smiling. He turned around and began to walk up the stairs to the entrance doors. I myself preferred the privacy of the Rue Scribe entrance, yet he liked this one better.

"Be careful! The steps can be slippery," I warned him, still busy unloading the coach. Philippe turned his head to face me… and bumped right into Donatella Marchesi. "Ragazzo stupido! Are you blind?" she called angrily. "Get out of my way!" Then she marched away, not even caring about the fact that they boy had nearly fallen down the stairs. I threw her a glance of pure hatred. She would pay for her insolence.


	46. Chapter FortySix

**Chapter Forty-Six**

**September 9th 1892:**_ Erik_

"Why are you not eating, Uncle Erik?" Philippe asked, pointing at my plate. I had hardly touched the carefully prepared dinner. "I'm not hungry," I muttered. I had been looking forwards to the meals with my little guest, imagining cooking the most extraordinary dishes. Although I myself didn't like food in general too much, I had assumed it would be nice to eat with someone else to keep me company.

Yet now I wasn't a good company myself. All I could think of was revenge. I hadn't liked Signora Marchesi from the beginning, simply because I'd never be able to accept another singer in the position that should have been Christine's. And the diva's arrogant behaviour hadn't exactly improved my opinion of her either. But today she had gone too far. She probably wouldn't even have noticed it if she had pushed Philippe down the stairs. My hands clenched into fists as I recalled the complacent expression on her face when she had walked away, as if nothing except her own well-being was important. No one treated my boy like that without having to deal with the consequences.

It was her bad luck that she had done such a thing on a day like this. Over the years I had grown rather indifferent towards sideways glances and whispers. They accompanied me as soon as I left the safety of my home. Yet today I had experienced them from Philippe's point of view, and suddenly they had hurt me again. I wouldn't let anything hurt the boy. And to achieve that goal, I'd have to make people respect him. Signora Marchesi would be the first to learn it.

Suddenly a little hand was waved in front of my eyes. "What are you thinking about?" the boy wanted to know. "I was thinking about what I still have to do before the dress rehearsal," I replied. "Those are boring things, and I can't take you with me. But I'll give you a sheet of paper, so that you can practice writing till I'll be back. Then we can go upstairs together." "All right," he said, smiling at me. Unlike most pupils, he actually enjoyed studying.

Although I felt like leaving immediately, I knew I had to put away the left-over from our dinner and do the dishes first. It was a strange thought that such things were more important than my duties as Opera Ghost, but they simply had to be done. After all, I didn't want to be a bad example for the boy. Besides, I could use the time to ponder over some details of my plan.

When the kitchen was tidy again I went to fetch the promised sheet of paper and a few other items I'd need. Then I made Philippe sit down in the living-room and gave him a pen. "I'll be back soon," I promised, leaning down to dishevel his hair in an affectionate gesture. In a way it reminded me of… No! I forbade myself to finish the sentence. Turning around abruptly I left the house. "Goodbye, Uncle Erik!" he called after me.

I marched away quickly. It was only when a considerable distance lay between my home and me that I dared stop for a few moments to catch my breath. As I lifted my hands to put on the gloves at last I noticed my fingers were shaking. I stuffed them into the soft leather gloves, angry about the obvious sign of weakness. It had been a narrow escape. I had almost thought of… her.

Christine. The name had sneaked to the front of my mind silently and was sitting there now. It seemed to sneer at me, to mock me. ´Did you really think you could get rid of me just like that?´ it asked. ´I'm only the beginning. And it was right. Moments later her picture arrived in my head, closely followed by memories. Long chains of them filled my whole body. They were in my lips, whispering ´Do you still remember what it felt like to kiss her?´… and in my hands, muttering ´Do you still remember what it felt like to touch her?´… and in my heart, murmuring ´Do you still remember what it feels like to love her?´.

"Yes!" I cried, my voice breaking. I remembered everything, her voice and her face and her scent. It felt so good to think of her; I had missed it very much, even though I had only suppressed it for a few hours. Yet it also hurt unbelievably strongly. The most painful part was the knowledge that the next time I'd see her, she'd no longer belong to me, not even in my mind. One could only delude oneself for so long.

The first sobs shook my chest, but I forced them down. I didn't want to collapse on the ground, weeping like a child. Summoning up all the energy I could muster I focused my thoughts on revenge. It was astonishing how quickly I grew calm again. Revenge varied in its reasons and consequences, yet the basic feelings, hatred and disdain, were rather simple. With determined strides I continued my way to the main part of the opera. Work had always been a good distraction from sadness.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

About an hour later Philippe and I sat in Box Five. Even with all the trouble about Signora Marchesi I had kept my promise to take an additional cushion. Now the boy had a very good view on the stage. However, he seemed more interested in the scenery and the lighting than in the opera itself, and I couldn't blame him. It was one of those terrible plots in which after fifteen minutes no one could tell who was in love with whom. Back in the old days the managers wouldn't even have thought about staging such nonsense, yet at the time of their decision I had been too busy preparing everything for Philippe's birthday to interfere.

During a particularly boring part I let my gaze wander over the auditorium. Officially nobody was allowed to watch a rehearsal, for the managers were afraid of secrets being given away before the first night. As if there had been any secrets! Besides, their rules were never quite as strict when it came to patrons. Many of them used the dress rehearsal to see dancers they were especially fond of without the glares of their wives. They mostly sat in the private boxes, but a few had also found their way into the auditorium, probably to be closer to the stage.

Both M.Andrè and M.Firmin were present, so was Mme.Giry, who watched the performance of every chorus girl closely. And there was someone else… I could hardly believe my eyes. It was Signor Marchesi, the diva's husband. The tall and slim man wasn't interested in the opera and hardly ever attended a performance. Yet today he was here. It couldn't have been more perfect if I had invited all of them myself.

A change of speed in the music announced the first big aria of the evening. "Who is that woman, Uncle Erik?" Philippe asked. "Her name is Donatella Marchesi," I replied readily. "She's the leading soprano… one of the most important singers," I added, seeing his questioning glance. "Moreover, she's the woman who nearly threw you down the stairs this afternoon." I didn't expect him to recognise her under all the make-up and in her costume, and indeed it seemed to take him a few seconds to recall the incident at all. "That was not nice of her. I grazed my knee," he then remarked. "Don't worry. I'll make her pay for it," I muttered. "How?" he wanted to know at once. I gave a soft chuckle. "Just keep watching…"

We focused on the events on stage again. "What is she singing about?" Philippe asked after about two minutes. I could understand that he grew bored; the opera was in Italian. "She's overjoyed because she has fallen in love with the man who has sung before," I explained. "But in the next act he'll – " I interrupted myself, saying "Look!". Signora Marchesi had just reached a very important part of the aria. Starting a long note she stretched out her arms in one of her famous gestures… and ended it with a screeching sound as her dress ripped over the whole width of her chest and fell to the floor, revealing her flesh-coloured corset and underskirts.

Then everything happened at once: Signor Marchesi gasped in shock and covered his eyes with his hand. Chorus girls giggled, and patrons stared at the diva's chest with undisguised fascination, once more very glad that their wives weren't present. The managers yelled for someone to fix the costume, while Mme.Giry, who was used to all kinds of catastrophes by now, finally sent a stagehand to fetch a dressing gown. Meanwhile the unhappy singers had found refuge behind an artificial tree. "This was just a little foretaste," I shouted, making my voice echo through the auditorium. "Apologise!" Quickly I drew the curtains, blocking Box Five from view.

"Was that really you?" Philippe whispered. I nodded, half proud and half embarrassed. For a moment I wondered whether it had been right to take such drastic actions. What if the boy didn't like it? But when I glanced over at him, I saw that his little body was shaking with silent laughter. "It was so funny," he told me. "Will I be able to do things like that one day, too?" "Of course," I answered, putting an arm around his shoulders. "You can do anything you want. After all, this is _our_ opera house."


	47. Chapter FortySeven

**Author's note: **Today is my 23rd birthday. And do you know what kind of presents I like best from my readers? Yes, reviews! So you know what you've got to do.

**Chapter Forty-Seven**

**September 10th 1892: **_Erik_

We started our training the next morning, right after the boy had got his breakfast. I had only drunk a cup of tea, which had been enough to put some life into me. All night long I had been busy composing. It had been more difficult than usual because I hadn't been able to use the organ. I had barely noticed the hours go by, so that I had been rather surprised when looking up and realising that it had already been seven o'clock.

Now I was a little tired, but it was a small price for having worked on such a good idea. During the dress rehearsal it had occurred to me that watching an opera shouldn't have been such an unpleasant experience for a child. Wasn't it possible to find a story that was appealing for people of all ages? The idea had set me thinking, and although I only had produced a few melodies yet, I was very content. This was a project that would occupy my mind at night, holding back the memories.

Yet first I'd be busy with the project that occupied my days: Philippe's education. At the moment we were standing in front of a room in a remote corner of the building. I had chosen it carefully, knowing that we wouldn't be disturbed here. Today's first lesson would take a little time, and I wasn't willing to stop every other minute because some stagehands walked by.

"One of the secrets of being a good Opera ghost is getting into every room," I told my pupil, who was listening attentively. "In order to… well, change a few things on Signora Marchesi's costume I had to get into her dressing room. How do you think I managed to do that?" "Some of the rooms have hidden entrances only you know of," he replied instantly. I nodded in approval. Yesterday I had shown him the door to the managers' office as well as the trick mirror in the room I had used to give Christine lessons in so many years ago. We hadn't got to her old dressing room yet, though. I'd show him the large mirror in there later.

Still I wasn't completely content with his answer. "You're right, but I don't have secret doors in each and every room. So there has to be another possibility, one that I can use for all the doors, not only here at the opera." I said, pulling a thin piece of metal out of my pocket. I inserted it into the lock of the door, and after just a few moments it was open. Philippe stared at me incredulously. "This is amazing," he breathed. "How did you do that?"

We practiced for more than an hour. Patiently I showed him the right way of doing it countless times. Slowly he began to understand how a lock worked and what he had to do to open it. His motions were clumsy at first, yet they grew better with every attempt. Small beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, but he insisted on trying it again… and again… and yet another time. Finally I heard the faint sound that announced victory. And indeed the door was open.

The boy turned around to look at me, smiling all over his face. I knew the feeling of triumph only too well. It had been just the same for me when I had managed to do this trick for the first time. The only difference was that I had had no teacher, nobody to share the exhilarating joy of being able to do something others couldn't with. I had been alone. Watching Philippe, my little pupil, I couldn't help returning the smile.

"And what is in the room?" he asked, peering into the darkness. "Old costumes and broken pieces of scenery," I answered. He looked rather disappointed; it was clear that he had expected something more exciting. "It's far more interesting than you think," I told him, walking up to him and illuminating the room with my lantern. At once bright colours could be seen everywhere, yellow, red and blue in the corner where the costumes were kept, and deep green and brown coming from the pieces of scenery.

This room always had a strangely inspiring effect on me, and it seemed to be like that for Philippe as well. He walked around slowly, lifting an old cloth here and squeezing behind a wardrobe to see what was on the other side there. "Many things are not the way they appear at first sight," I remarked. "That's why one should try to find out more… But be careful over there!" I added as he was about to push aside a wooden beam. "Believe me, you don't want that on your foot. And pay attention to splinters! You can pull the sleeves of your shirt over your hands. Or wait…"

I rummaged under my cloak for a few moments, then pulled out a pair of small leather gloves. "Put those on," I advised him, giving them to him. "They'll protect your hands." He did what I told him, smiling as he realised they fitted perfectly. "Thank you, Uncle Erik," he said happily, continuing his exploration of the room immediately. I watched him, glad that I had bought the gloves a few weeks ago. They were very useful.

"If I find something nice, can I take it with me?" he wanted to know. His voice sounded muffled because he was just examining a pile of dusty old costumes. "Of course you can," I replied. "Nobody needs these things anymore. Sometimes the stagehands fetch a little wood to repair a new piece of scenery, but apart from that the door remains locked most of the time…at least for most people. By the way, I got many things for building Orpheus here."

We left the room a little while later, carrying several pieces of wood and a bright blue cloth. Philippe had told me he wasn't sure what to do with it, but I had encouraged him to take the things anyway. I wanted him to play with them, to get a feeling for the different materials. It was essential for the process of building something to understand what it consisted of first.

"What else are we going to do today?" Philippe asked as we made our way back to the cellars. "We'll stay at home and study," I answered. "You still need a lot of practice in both reading and writing." He threw me a pleading glance. "I'd rather look at all the other rooms up here," he muttered. I gave a slight sigh. It was not as if I didn't understand him. After this morning's events such simple activities had to appear very dull. "I know it's not very exiting, but you need those skills," I explained. "Everybody does. Have I ever mentioned the notes I write to the managers?" He shook his head, and I started telling him some stories. After a few minutes he was giggling. The sound was music to my ears.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Even though we had really spent the rest of the day studying, Philippe hadn't grown bored. It was all a matter of the right exercises. As soon as he had realised that the words he had copied formed a note to Signora Marchesi, he had become much more interested in them. I had explained the difficult ones to him, and when he had read the note out to me in the end, he hadn't even stumbled over ´your insolent behaviour´ or ´apologise immediately´. I had been very proud of my pupil.

Now it was ten o'clock and perfectly quiet in the house. I had sent the boy to bed two hours ago, knowing that it was the time when he always went to bed. Yesterday it had been much later, of course, but in general I wanted to keep things they way he was used to them. Besides, he needed his sleep. It had been a long and exhausting day.

I was sitting in my favourite armchair in the living room and let the day pass in review. In my hands I held a sheet of paper and a pen, and occasionally I wrote down a few words. I made a plan of what I had already taught Philippe and what I'd do in the following days. He was a most promising pupil, curious and eager to learn. I'd have never believed possible that it could be so wonderful to pass on my knowledge. Still I had to be careful not to demand too much of him. He was, after all, a child.

A faint sound pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked up from my notes and listened intently. A few moments passed in silence, then I heard it again. It sounded like… a groaning. At once I jumped to my feet and hurried to the room that had once belonged to Christine and was Philippe's now, for that was where the noise had come from. My mind was racing, so was my heart. Maybe the boy had fallen out of the bed and hurt himself. Or he was feeling sick.

Yet entering the room I realised that none of it was true. He was lying in bed, but he was thrashing around wildly, muttering: "No, Maman… don't go… please… Maman…". I sat down on the bed quickly and took his little hand, which was hot and sweaty. "It's all right, Philippe," I said soothingly. "I'm here…" Slowly he calmed down. His breathing grew less fast, and finally he lay still and opened his eyes.

"Uncle Erik?" he murmured, looking at me with a sleepy gaze. "I had a bad dream. Maman was there… and then she simply left…" "Your mother is fine," I assured him. "Your father is with her. You'll see her in a few days' time. There's nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep." I wanted to stand up, but he held onto my hand. "Maman always stays with me when I had a bad dream," he told me, his big blue eyes almost hypnotising me. And how could I have resisted that pout?

I settled down again, and Philippe closed his eyes, pressing my cold hand against his hot cheek. "Good night, Uncle Erik," he muttered. "Good night, Philippe," I gave back. Listening to his breathing becoming deep and even, I knew he had fallen asleep again. Still I didn't leave. I thought about his nightmare and the many nights I had spent alone as a child. This would never happen to my boy. I'd always be there for him. Always.


	48. Chapter FortyEight

**Chapter Forty-Eight**

**September 14th 1892: **_Erik_

The next few days could easily be called some of the happiest in my life. With Philippe even the most boring tasks grew much more enjoyable. I never grew tired of finding interesting things to teach him, and he never grew tired of learning. His thirst for knowledge amazed me. True, I had been just the same as a child, but for me circumstances had been completely different. I hadn't even dared hope a normal boy could possess the same qualities. If there was one person worthy of becoming my heir, it was he.

We spent almost every minute together, writing notes to the managers, checking the work of the stagehands and setting two dozen mice free in the chorus girls' dressing room. I loved the sound of his laughter, and, nearly without realising it, I started laughing more often myself. Yet it wasn't my usual almost manic laughter, but a cheerful, normal-sounding one. Philippe was a very good example in this respect.

With days like those it wasn't easy to be alone at night. I was strangely restless, sitting down with a book and standing up again, pouring myself a glass of wine and putting it back on the table after one or two sips, and wandering through the rooms. Only when I settled down at the boy's bed I grew calm, watching him for hours, sometimes the whole night long. Even composing wasn't as important as guarding his sleep. The knowledge that I was there was good for him as well; the number of his nightmares had diminished.

Yet when I was completely honest, I knew that I needed the nights and also the days with him far more than he did. Philippe was not only a good pupil, but a wonderful friend… and the closest thing to a son I'd ever have. It was especially the latter fact that made me shed a few silent tears every now and then when I sat at his bed. As young as I felt while inventing new games for him to play, at night I was painfully aware of my age. I would never have own children. I would never know the fulfilment of love. It was in those minutes that I'd have maybe considered ending my life… if it hadn't been for my boy.

Unfortunately our time together would be over soon. Today his parents would come back and take him away from me. Of course I had thought about not letting him go, perhaps even hiding him. But what would have been the point in such actions? Philippe loved his Maman and his Papa, and he needed them. I had to stop being so arrogant as to believe I could replace them. No one could.

Unlike me, the boy was even more cheerful than usual. "Did you really send them the message?" he asked as we sat down for a cup of tea in the afternoon. I gave him a gentle smile. He had already repeated this question a dozen times. "Yes, I did," I replied. "I gave it to a delivery boy in the morning, and he brought it to your home." "But do you think Maman and Papa have read it by now?" he went on. "I don't know," I said. "When we visited your sister yesterday, Jacqueline told me they'd be back by noon. So I guess they've read it."

I used the time he needed to come up with yet another question to fill his cup with milk. Philippe didn't like tea too much. What he did like was the strawberry cake I had bought as a special treat. I put a big piece of it on his plate and placed it next to the cup. Then I poured myself a little tea. All the time I watched the boy. I knew there was more to come, but I didn't know when.

Looking from me to his plate and back he seemed to try and decide what to do first. He had been brought up much too well to speak with his mouth full, no matter how tempting the cake was. Finally he chose talking over eating. "And will they attend the performance?" he asked. I shrugged. "I hope they will," I answered. "It would be a pity if they didn't see all the things we've prepared." He nodded and devoted his attention to the cake. Apparently my reply was enough for him.

I took a sip of tea while my mind wandered to the evening. It would be the first night of the new opera. Actually two more weeks of rehearsing had been planned after the dress rehearsal, but when I had made it clear that I wanted it to happen tonight, the managers had complied. Since the incident with Signora Marchesi they were very eager to fulfil my wishes. It had meant practicing from morning to evening, yet they had eventually managed to get ready in time.

It would be a very special performance, much more interesting than a normal first night. Philippe and I had a few surprises in store. Yet the most important thing was that I'd finally present the boy as my heir in front of all people. After this evening, no one would dare treat him disrespectfully. That much was certain. And of course his parents had to be there at such an occasion. Grinning inwardly I drank some more tea. I was already looking forward to seeing the Vicomte's face.

_Christine_

Sinking down on the sofa in the living room I couldn't help thinking that it was always good to come home, no matter how nice the holiday had been. Raoul was still busy helping Gabriel unload the coach, so I had a few moments to myself. It was a pleasant feeling to be alone for a change. In Nice my husband and I had been together all the time, which had been quite exhausting.

Yet it had also been wonderful. Leaning against the cushions I recalled the long walks we had taken at the beach and the hours we had spent talking about everything and nothing. It had been a bit like in the first time after our wedding. Moreover, it had reminded me of why I had married Raoul. He had been more cheerful and carefree than I had seen him in years. If less works meant he'd be like this more often, we'd be facing happy times.

"Madame?" a voice called. I looked up and saw Jacqueline standing at the door. "I'm sorry for disturbing you, but a boy brought a message in the morning, and he told me to give it to your husband or you as soon as you've come back. And since he's not here…" "It's all right," I said with s smile. It would take more than a simple message to disturb me in such a moment. "Who is it from?" I asked. "That's a strange thing. It's from your son," she replied. She obviously noticed the incredulous expression on my face, for she handed me the letter and added: "Look for yourself!". And indeed it said "from Philippe" on the envelope. At once I tore it open.

_Dear Maman, dear Papa,_

_tonight will be the first night of the opera's latest production. Uncle Erik and I would like you to come. You can also bring Jacqueline along… and Antoinette, if you have to. One of the private boxes will be reserved for you. I'm looking forward to seeing you again._

_Yours, Philippe_

"What does he write?" Jacqueline asked curiously. "He has invited us to the opera tonight – all of us," I replied without thinking. "Can you come or do you have other plans?" "I'd be delighted," she told me, smiling brightly. "You know, my sister Clarille will dance, and she wanted me to come, but of course it would have been much too expensive for me. Thank you so much!"

In this moment Raoul entered the room. In his hand he held my handbag. "You left this in the coach," he said, settling down next to me. ""Oh, and Gabriel asks when we'll need him again. Do you know at which time we'll fetch Philippe from the opera?" "Actually that's something we still have to talk about," I replied. If I had learned one thing from the events of the past weeks, it was to discuss certain topics the moment they came up. "Jacqueline, could you go to Gabriel and tell him we won't need him till the evening?" I asked. The maid nodded and left the room.

"What is it that we'll do in the evening?" Raoul wanted to know instantly. "We're not home for as long as half an hour, and already you've planned something… You're amazing." He kissed my cheek lovingly. "In fact, it's our son's doing," I corrected him, holding the letter in front of his eyes for him to read. Secretly I wondered whether my acceptance hadn't been too quick. But then, there was nothing bad about a visit to the opera, was there?

After a few moments Raoul muttered: "And you've already decided we'll go there without even asking me?". "I assumed you'd approve, so I-" I started an explanation, yet stopped when I noticed he was smiling. "Well, why not?" he said. "We haven't been to the opera for years. But will you be able to deal with being there again? You know, after all that happened…"

I hadn't considered that matter myself yet. Surely spending hours at the opera would be much harder than being there for a few minutes. Besides, what if I met Erik? Suddenly it didn't seem to be such a good idea after all. But then I thought of Philippe. I could almost see his face screwed up in concentration while he had been writing the note. It was apparent that he had written it himself, although he had certainly had help. Some of the phrases simply weren't that of a child. Still I couldn't deny him a wish.

"Our child wants us to come, so we will do it," I said firmly. Taking Raoul's hand I added: "With you at my side I can deal with anything.". Though he was smiling proudly, there was still a little concern in his eyes as he asked: "And what if it's a trap?". I shook my head. "Erik wouldn't do such a thing with Philippe involved," I muttered. "Besides, why should be have let him invite Antoinette and Jacqueline as well then? No, we'll just have a nice evening and take our boy home with us afterwards. I'm sure the only exciting things will happen on stage."


	49. Chapter FortyNine

**Chapter Forty-Nine**

**September 14th 1892: **_Christine_

Although I had been a bit reluctant at first, I had to admit that I was rather excited about going to the opera. There was a little nervousness involved in it, too, but mainly it was a positive feeling. The music, the people – it was something one simply didn't get in the theatre or on a concert. Those events had never made my body tingle the way it did while I stood in front of my wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear.

It was a first night, so formal dress was required. But then, I dressed like that most of the time anyway. It was expected from a countess. As a consequence I possessed several dozens of dresses that would suit the occasion. I couldn't help being a little jealous of Raoul. For him it was much easier: He grabbed the next best suit dark and left it to me to pick a tie that went with the colour of my clothes. Was it any wonder that he was already finished and had gone to look after our daughter, while I was still in my dressing-gown?

Antoinette… of course! It occurred to me that I had to check what Jacqueline had chosen for her to wear. After all, the whole family had to fit together. So I made my way to her room. Yet it turned out that I didn't have to walk that far. I had barely left my bedroom when my daughter came running towards me. "Can we go now, Maman? Can we?" she asked, dancing around me like an overly excited butterfly. "Papa said we can go when you're finished. But you're not finished, are you? You're still wearing your dressing-gown."

Trying to follow her with my eyes I almost grew dizzy. As she hadn't calmed down after one or two minutes I seized her hand and held onto it, making her stand still. "I'm not dressed yet because I wanted to see what you wear first, my dear," I explained. "So let me have a look at you." "Of course, Maman," she muttered with a meek smile. "I'll do anything if it helps us leave more quickly."

I shook my head about her eagerness, but I smiled as well. I couldn't blame her for being excited. The prospect of attending a real performance had nearly made her faint with delight as I had told her about it when she had returned from her teacher. If I had had any doubts that my decision to go there had been right, they'd have vanished when I had seen her face. For her, it was a wish coming true.

She looked very pretty in her light blue silk dress. Only her hair was still an unruly mass of curls. I could easily guess that she had escaped from the maid before she had had the chance to braid it. Antoinette preferred her hair to hang loosely over her shoulders. Yet of course it couldn't stay like that for an evening at the opera. So I told her: "You look lovely. But you'll look even lovelier once Jacqueline has made you a nice plait. Go back to your room now, and I'll hurry with getting dressed, I promise.". She nodded, turned on her heel and ran away again, her hair fluttering. I looked after her for a moment, then returned to my bedroom.

Seeing my daughter had given me an idea what to wear, just as I had intended. Opening the second door of the wardrobe I spotted it at once: It was a long blue dress, a shade darker than Antoinette's. I had bought it for a dinner with Raoul's business partners about half a year ago, but only worn it two or three times because it was too elegant for most occasions. Yet it was perfect for the opera. Moreover, my husband had a tie that would go with it very nicely. Taking the dress out of the wardrobe I gave a sigh of relief. At last I had made a decision.

"That's something I've never understood about women: Don't you think it strange to spend more time searching for a dress than attending the actual event?" a male voice behind me asked. It was quickly followed by two hands being placed on my shoulders. I didn't have to turn around to know whom they belonged to. "And don't you think it strange to wander off and let me do all the work instead of at least giving me advice?" I whispered, tilting my head slightly as Raoul kissed the side of my neck.

He chuckled softly, his breath tickling me. "I'm afraid I'd be a very bad adviser," he told me. "I like you best when you're not wearing anything at all." "But would you really want me to go to the opera in the nude?" I wanted to know teasingly, running my hand through his hair. "Imagine all those men staring at me…" Placing the next kiss on my cheek he replied: "You're right. Then I'll better leave you in peace, so that you can get dressed. I met Antoinette on my way here. She's so excited that she'll probably go alone if we're not ready in five minutes.". Smiling I pulled the right tie out of one of the drawers and handed it over my shoulder.

Since Raoul stood in front of the mirror, I hid behind the door of the wardrobe to change. I didn't want to give him the chance to make more comments about how he liked me best. It was not that I didn't like him talking about me like that, but I was afraid it might lead to something we really didn't have enough time for now. The idea that our daughter could come into the room, only to find her parents engaged in a very private activity made me giggle.

"What are you doing? Can I come and join you?" my husband asked. "That's impossible," I answered. "But I'm almost finished dressing anyway." Quickly I slipped out of my dressing gown. Fortunately I was already wearing my underskirts and the corset. Jacqueline had helped me put it on before she had gone to Antoinette. So there wasn't much left for me to do. Just a few minutes later I closed the last button and stepped out from behind the door to look at myself in the mirror.

Yet Raoul was still standing in front of it. His eyes grew wide as he saw me. "If I ever forget what a beautiful wife I have, I'll just have to recall this moment," he whispered, looking at me in something closely resembling awe. "Thank you," I said, beaming at him. It never ceased to amaze me how few words he needed to make me feel cherished. We shared a loving kiss. Once more I thought how much more affectionate he had become in the last days. Maybe it was true that even disasters could have positive consequences.

"Will you leave your hair like that?" he wanted to know, tugging at a strand playfully. "Of course not," I replied, feeling as if I was talking to my daughter again. "In our circles that would be almost as bad as going to the opera in the nude," I went on, winking at him. "Why don't you go and tell Antoinette I'm nearly finished?" I then suggested. "Maybe you can already take her downstairs, so that Jacqueline has a little time for herself. After all, this is a special evening for her as well." "All right," he agreed. "But don't make us wait too long!" With these words he left, closing the door behind him.

Knowing I had to hurry I sat down at my dressing table. Within moments I tied my hair up in a bun with a dark blue silk ribbon. Vaguely I wondered what Philippe would be wearing. I knew which clothes were missing from his wardrobe, but I could only guess what he'd choose. Like so many boys, he sometimes had a rather peculiar taste in clothing.

When my make-up was finished as well, I took a few moments to admire myself in the mirror. Raoul had been right: I looked pretty. Would Erik like my dress, too? The thought was gone as quickly as it had appeared, still it left me shaking from head to toe. Why had Erik come to my mind all of a sudden? I hadn't thought of him in quite a while, and I hadn't missed anything… had I?

Moreover, if he could affect me that much without even being here, what would happen if I actually met him? I had to hold onto the frame of the mirror for support as I tried my best to remain calm. I'd simply use other thoughts to fight those of Erik. With all my will-power I conjured the most pleasant memory of my holiday: Raoul and I taking a stroll at the beach on a glorious day. It had almost been sunset, and the water had glittered like a box filled with the most wonderful jewels.

It started working instantly. I felt much better. Now I knew what I'd have to do if I was reminded of Erik: I'd recall that memory and be safe. Before I left the room to join my family, I smiled at my reflection, glad about having found a solution. It never occurred to me to ask myself whether I maybe wanted to think of him.


	50. Chapter Fifty

**Chapter Fifty**

**September 14th 1892: **_Raoul_

It was only when we were standing in the entrance hall of the Opéra Populaire that Christine and I realised none of us knew where we'd be sitting. In his letter Philippe had mentioned that we'd have one of the boxes, but he hadn't told us which one. Looking for ourselves was impossible, and there was no one we could have asked. Few people were here yet anyway. We had arrived rather early, but that had been our intention. Neither my wife nor I were keen on the usual polite conversations. We'd have enough of them in the interval.

Before we could decide what to do, a young girl approached us. "Excuse me, are you Comte Raoul de Chagny and his family?" she asked, giving me a bright smile while almost ignoring the rest of us. I nodded. "I should have known it – I've heard so much about you," she said with much more enthusiasm than necessary. "My name is Narelle. I was sent here to show you the way to your box." "That's very nice," I muttered. Somehow I didn't feel comfortable around the girl. It was slightly eerie how much she focused on me.

"This way, please," she told us… or rather, me. For a moment I thought she wanted to seize my arm, so I quickly grabbed Christine's hand, demonstrating who I belonged to. Looking a little hurt, Narelle went away. My wife and I walked behind her, and Antoinette and Jacqueline followed us. I couldn't help wondering whether the people here had been just as friendly the last time I had come to the opera. For some reason I doubted it.

Just when I asked myself if I should say something, the task was taken over by Narelle. "I've heard so much about you, M. le Comte," she called over her shoulder as we made our way through a corridor. "Erm… you said that before," I murmured, not sure what else to tell her. "People often talk about your business when they come here," she went on. Had she even heard my comment? "You're one of the most important men in Paris, aren't you?" "Well, maybe…" I muttered.

It was one of the strangest conversations I had ever had. The girl kept praising my achievements in all details, even after I had stopped commenting on them. The furious glance Christine had thrown me had reduced me to silence. I squeezed her hand lightly, as if to indicate that it wasn't my fault. And behind us, Antoinette was chatting merrily, unaware of what was going on between the three persons in front of her. I'd have given a lot to be in her place.

The atmosphere grew more tense by the minute. I found myself wondering how long the way to our box could be. Yet I also thought about something else: Why did Narelle know so much about me? There were dozens of businessmen like me in this city, and honestly I doubted there was a lot of talk about me. I was one of the people who liked to stay in the background. Had the managers told her all that? But why should they have done so? The only effect was that my wife was becoming furious, and surely they didn't want that. They had always got along very well with her. So it had been someone else. Of course…

I was about to utter my thought when Narelle came to a halt in front of a door. Opening it she said: "This is your box. If you'd follow me inside…". We entered the box one after the other. At once our daughter rushed to the balustrade. "Look! We can see… everything!" she called, leaning forwards as far as she could. Jacqueline walked to her quickly and seized her by the shoulders, thus keeping our little girl from falling into the auditorium. I was torn between smiling about her excitement and be worried about her carelessness. Given the fact that the maid was with us, the former feeling grew stronger. Jacqueline always took good care of Antoinette. I trusted her completely.

"Take your seats, please. The performance will begin soon," Narelle informed us, although actually there was still plenty of time. I noticed that not even half of the auditorium was filled with people yet. Still I went to the row of chairs, hoping that our daughter would calm down a little once we'd be seated. I sat down at the end of the row. Christine took the seat next to me. Jacqueline had to use all her powers of persuasion to make Antoinette sit down next to her mother. Then she sank down on the last remaining seat.

I turned around to thank Narelle for everything. Now that her job was done, she'd surely leave, wouldn't she? Yet I had thought wrong. She was just settling down on a stool next to the door. "If you need something, just say so, M. le Comte," she called cheerfully. Christine groaned. "Can't you send her away?" she whispered into my ear. "Not yet…" I gave back. "As a matter of fact, there is something you could do," I then told the girl.

She jumped to her feet immediately and came to stand next to my chair. "Yes, Monsieur?" she asked, leaning down so much that I could have easily taken a look at her cleavage… if I had wanted to do so, that was. "I'd like to know who sent you to us and told you to behave like that," I said. Narelle grew pale, and for some reason she threw an anxious glance at the box opposite ours. "I've been given very precise orders from… from _him_," she muttered.

"From M.André or M.Firmin?" I wanted to know. "And why do you keep looking over there. Is there anything special?" "Box Five," Christine suddenly said. "I didn't realise it before, but now I do… You got your instructions from the Opera Ghost, didn't you?" The girl nodded, her head bowed, and my wife examined her with something like pity. "He sent me a note," Narelle explained. "It said I should meet you in the entrance hall and guide you to your box. And I should be… especially nice to you, Monsieur."

Before Christine or I could react in any way, she had already continued: "I have to apologise for my behaviour. I'm not interested in you, M. le Comte, not at all. I'm happily married. It's just… the Ghost made it very clear that if I don't stay in this box till the end of the performance, he'll dismiss me. I need this job. You see, I have a little child at home… So could you not send me away, please?". She glanced at us pleadingly, and we nodded, almost at the same moment. Narelle breathed a sigh of relief and went back to her stool.

"Do you have any idea what this was about?" I asked Christine, yet she looked just as puzzled as I was. "That doesn't make sense," she muttered. "It would be more like Erik to send someone who's unfriendly to you…" "I think he himself does that very well," I remarked dryly. My wife gave a nervous chuckle. "Maybe he wants to keep you distracted. But for which reason?" We'd have probably gone on with our debate, yet in this moment the lights were extinguished. Even Antoinette fell silent.

To my surprise the curtains shielding the stage from view were not pulled open. Instead, a person in the first row stood up. When he turned around, I recognised M.Firmin. "Mesdames and Messieurs!" he greeted us. "I'd like to welcome you to the first night of our new opera ´La donna bellissima e la morte´. I know that speeches usually aren't held until after the performance, but today it is different…"

He stopped, and for a second I assumed he had lost his thread. But when I saw him glance up at Box Five nervously, everything was clear. Narelle was not the only person manipulated by the Phantom tonight. At last M.Firmin seemed to have found the strength to go on. "I'm sure all of you have heard of the legendary Opera Ghost. Of course he is present today, in his private box…" He pointed upwards, yet it was too dark to see much.

"But he is accompanied by somebody else: Philippe Charles, his heir and future Phantom of the Opera!" He started clapping half-heartedly. A few people followed his example… only to stop just a moment later. Two large lantern had been lit on either side of Box Five, so that everyone could see the Ghost and Philippe. But what had happened to the child? He was dressed in black, complete with cloak, fedora and gloves. It was like looking at a miniature version of the Phantom, only without the mask. "What has he done to my son?" I whispered.


	51. Chapter FiftyOne

**Chapter Fifty-One**

**September 14th 1892: **_Raoul_

My question was drowned out by the sounds of people jumping up from their seats, craning their necks to get a better view and by the excited chatter and cries of surprise. Every single person in the audience seemed to try and give an opinion about the event at the same time. The noise was indescribable. Some women were already covering their ears with their hands.

I neither shouted nor jumped up. All I did was stare at Box Five, at my boy. But was this child still my boy? He didn't look like the Philippe I knew. These clothes were simply ridiculous. And yet… I leaned forwards in my chair to make out the expression on his face. As strange as it might sound, from my position it looked as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He was even laughing; I could clearly see it. And the Phantom was laughing with him. He had even put an arm around the boy's shoulders.

In this moment I knew I had to get to him. I wouldn't let a complete stranger touch my son, least of all that man. Who did he think he was – his father? Christine's words echoed through my head: _You are Philippe's father, Raoul, and no one will every question that._ They had been so soothing then, but now they sounded all wrong. After such an appearance _everyone_ would question it. The artist who had painted our family portrait might have said that Philippe looked like me, yet that was no longer true. Now he looked like the Phantom.

"We have to get our son away from him," I told Christine in an urgent whisper. "Who know what he'll – " As I threw her a sideways glance, I froze. Her head was tilted to one side in a rather uncomfortable angle, and her eyes were closed. I realised that the sight had made her faint. My worries about Philippe were forgotten momentarily as I looked at her pale face. "Oh God," I breathed. "Christine… What shall I do?"

Luckily Jacqueline had become aware of my wife's state by now as well. While Antoinette was sitting on the very edge of her seat, fascinated by the turmoil, the maid stood up and came to help me. "There should be a bottle of smelling salts in her handbag," she said, leaning over Christine. Glad that I could do something, I grabbed the handbag from under her chair. My fingers were trembling as I tugged at the clasp impatiently and rummaged between hairpins, a comb and handkerchiefs.

After what felt like an eternity I found the little bottle, opened it and held it under Christine's nose. Both Jacqueline and I sighed in relief when she blinked and finally opened her eyes. "Raoul? What has happened?" she whispered. "The Phantom and Philippe, dressed in the same clothes – it must have been a bit too much for you," I explained, stroking her hair tenderly. Gradually her face became its normal rosy colour again. "Yes… I guess that's what it was…" she muttered. "Thank you for helping me. If it hadn't been for the two of you…" "You'd have woken up sooner or later by yourself," Jacqueline said with a gentle smile. When she had made sure Christine was all right, she sat down next to Antoinette again.

Stuffing the bottle back into her handbag I told my wife: "I have to go now. I have to free Philippe from that man's clutches. Do you think you can accompany me?". It only took her a few moments to find a reply, but in my opinion even that was too long. We had already lost so much time. Looking over at Box Five I saw that at least they were still in there. So I'd know where to find them.

Finally Christine answered: "I'm fine. But, Raoul… I don't think you or I or anyone else should go.". "Why not?" I asked, staring at her blankly. Suddenly I doubted the state of her mind. Maybe it had suffered during her faint. There could be no other explanation for her words. "It is not necessary," she replied. "Erik is no danger to our son. He loves him; he wouldn't touch a hair on his head."

"But don't you understand?" I called, much louder than I had intended. Fortunately the audience was even louder, so that no one could overhear our conversation, which was quickly turning into an argument as I continued: "This is just the first step. He'll take him down to his lair, and I'll never see my boy again! He'll – ". "No, _you_ don't understand," Christine interrupted me. "You're mixing up two completely different scenarios. Philippe isn't me, Raoul, and Erik isn't the person he used to be ten years ago either. He's just showing our son to the people here because he's proud of him. That's nothing bad." She gazed at me intently, as if trying to make me calm down.

I, however, wasn't willing to give in this quickly. "And you fainted because you were so pleased to see the boy dressed up as a little Phantom?" I asked with a bitter laugh. "Of course not," she replied. "It was a shock for me. Yet the longer I think about it, the less terrible it gets. Don't you remember that afternoon when our children sneaked into our bedroom, and Antoinette tried my dressed and Philippe your suits? It's just like that."

"No, it isn't," I contradicted her. "That man is a monster. Philippe shouldn't even think of becoming like him in any way." "That's just the point, isn't it? You don't like Erik, so our little one isn't allowed to like him either," she hissed, clearly less patient than before. "Well, that's something I am not going to discuss with you. I tried to make you understand him once, yet apparently it didn't have the slightest effect on you. So I won't try again. Do what you want. Make a fool of yourself. But don't expect me to be on your side." With these words she turned away from me and stared at the stage, where still nothing was happening.

Standing up from my chair I said: "Very well. Then I'll go and get him alone.". I was furious. Didn't my wife see that I just wanted to help? After all, I _had _rescued her from the Phantom once, no matter what she chose to think about it now. And this time I wouldn't even have to enter the cellars. All I'd have to do was go to Box Five and return my boy to where he belonged: at my side.

Yet arriving at the door I had to realise that things wouldn't be that simple. It was locked. Glaring at Narelle angrily I called: "Open the door! This isn't the right moment for stupid games!". The only reaction I got was a surprised glance and a shrug. "I didn't do anything with the door but close it after we had gone inside. So it cannot be locked now," she replied, getting to her feet. She tried to push down the handle, but naturally it didn't work for her either. "This is strange…" she muttered, shaking her head.

Her ignorance only infuriated me more. "And you are sure that you haven't ´accidentally´ locked the door?" I asked with barely controlled anger. "Of course I'm sure," she whispered, looking at me like a mouse facing a hungry cat. She reached into her pockets and turned them inside-out to demonstrate they were empty. "Look! I don't have any keys," she said. Confronted with such obvious innocence I gave a deep sigh, suddenly feeling helpless rather than angry. "It's all right. I believe you," I told the girl, who sank back on her stool.

"You could try to push against the door really hard," Narelle suggested. "It's rather old. Maybe the wood will give way." Nodding I threw myself against the door with all my power, yet that only earned me an aching shoulder. The door merely vibrated slightly. It seemed to be more solid than the girl assumed. A cry from my daughter made me turn around. "What are you doing, Papa?" she wanted to know. I saw that she was watching me, as well as my wife and the maid. "He has locked us in," I explained shortly, not caring that Antoinette had no idea who ´he´ was. "But I won't – "

In this moment we heard the Phantom's voice. It echoed through the auditorium. "I think I've given you all more than enough time for talking or trying to get out of here. Apparently you've forgotten that the performance is about to begin. This is no good behaviour, neither regarding the artists nor my little Philippe. He wants to enjoy his first opera. So I expect you to be quiet. You'll be able to leave the auditorium and the boxes – mind you, not the building itself – during the interval. You'll have the chance to exchange rumours then. And now – let's begin!" At a wave of his hand the curtains were drawn, and the music started. I did the only thing logical: I sat down and waited, rubbing my aching shoulder.


	52. Chapter FiftyTwo

**Chapter Fifty-Two**

**September 14th 1892: **_Christine_

The opera began. Song followed song, dance followed dance, scene followed scene. Yet I was just staring at the stage without taking in a lot of what was going on. I sat on the right side of my chair, as far away from my husband as it was possible without crushing Antoinette. She didn't even seem to notice it, though, for she was busy listening to Jacqueline, who tried to explain what the singers and dancers were doing and why they were doing it. The maid had obviously heard a few things from her sister. I was glad that she kept the girl distracted. It gave me more time for thinking.

Once more, I was pondering about the two most important men in my life. Throwing Raoul a sideways glance I saw that his jaws were pressed together firmly. There also was a sharp line between his eyebrows, which always appeared at this spot when he was angry. At least I assumed it always appeared there; he and I argued so rarely that I had little experience in that kind of things. I turned my head away quickly, before he noticed I had looked at him. After all, I didn't want to give him the impression that I wanted to continue our argument.

Why did he have to be this stubborn in everything concerning Erik? Of course there were times in which I could understand his worries. When he had first heard about Philippe being Erik's heir, I had known right from the beginning that he wouldn't be pleased. But he had had quite a while to accept it, and honestly I had thought he had done so by now. If this was not the case, why had he come to the opera at all? He must have known we'd see our son and his teacher together here.

The problem was that Erik would never only be the boy's teacher for Raoul. No matter how much I talked to him and tried to make him see reason, he'd always regard him as the monster who had abducted his fiancée ten years ago. I barely recognised him in the moments when he spoke of him with so much hatred in his voice. It was as if the sensible and mature man stepped aside and let the twenty-two-year-old boy take charge. Arguing with that part of his character was almost impossible. It was enthusiastic, yet unfortunately sometimes for the wrong kind of ideas.

Trying to get Philippe away from Erik! The thought still made me shake my head incredulously. Why should we do that? Just because my husband didn't like to see his old enemy happy? He'd have surely preferred it if Erik had been miserable for the rest of his life. Well, as long as I had anything to say about that matter, it would never be like that.

I was glad about him being happy now. He had had such a hard life, and if my son's presence made him feel so much better, I wouldn't dream of forbidding him the contact with the boy. Looking over at Box Five I saw Erik showing Philippe something on stage. As the child turned his head to face him again, they beamed at each other. In this moment a wave of jealousy washed over me. It was not because of Philippe; he was a cheerful boy who smiled dozens of times every day. I didn't envy his teacher for being the receiver of one of them for a change. But what was it then?

After a few seconds realisation dawned on me: I was jealous because I had never been able to make Erik smile like that. The thought was so selfish that I hardly dared admit it to myself. Shouldn't I be content with the fact that someone made him happy, even if it was not me? Erik seemed more sensible than me in this respect. He obviously accepted my decision against him. Except for the letter asking me whether Philippe could stay with him for a couple of days he had not contacted me in any way. I hadn't thought too much about it before, but seeing him now made me feel strangely hollow.

High-pitched cries made me glance at the stage again. Even after all those years I had recognised the shouts of anxious chorus girls at once. I quickly discovered the reason for their discomfort: At the beginning of the performance, when I had still paid a little attention, their faces had been covered with white powder, just like everyone else's. Yet as the light had changed a moment before, they had turned…

"Blue!" Antoinette called, managing to tug at Jacqueline's and my sleeve at the same time to make sure we had noticed it, too. "Maman, Papa, Jacqueline, look! They're like… blueberries !" She squealed with delight. It was indeed a rather good comparison. The chorus girls were wearing costumes in a very interesting shade of green, and huddled up in a terrified mass of bodies, their heads resembled lots and lots of blueberries.

I could barely keep myself from bursting into laughter. Still I tried to be a good example for my daughter. "It's not polite to laugh at others," I told her, but interrupted myself as I realised how pointless my words were. All over the audience people were laughing openly, gesturing at the stage. Judging by the sounds he made even my husband was chuckling.

"At least it's not Clarille!" The maid's deep sigh made me notice something peculiar: Not all the girls were concerned. About half a dozen of them looked completely normal. "Which one is Clarille?" I wanted to know, and Jacqueline replied: "The one on the far right, next to your friend Meg.". She pointed at a rather small girl with long, light-brown hair, who watched the scene with a mixture of fear and fascination.

Worry had turned Meg's cheeks red, but apart from that she was her usual self. If something like that had happened to Mme.Giry's daughter, I'd have known there was a reason for being worried. Yet since that was not the case, I regarded it as one of Erik's jokes: crude, but harmless. He had probably only done it to impress Philippe.

As if she had sensed that I had thought of her, the ballet mistress entered the stage. "Have you forgotten everything I have taught you, Mesdemoiselles?" she asked, gazing down at the girls on the floor sternly. "It is not the interval yet, so why are you sitting around there? The performance will be continued, no matter what you look like." She banged her cane on the floor, and the girls nodded dutifully.

They took their positions, yet before the music could start again, Erik's voice interrupted all actions. "I am not finished," he said sharply. As he snapped his fingers, the light changed a second time. For a moment it was very quiet because everyone waited for something to happen. Then the first person began to laugh. Others joined in, but I needed the cry: "Oh God! Signora Marchesi!" to understand what was going on.

The diva had stood on the left side of the stage, waiting for the commotion to be over. Yet all of a suddenly she was in the centre of attention. In the new light her long white dress as well as the underskirts had turned transparent, so that the audience could enjoy the sight of her nearly naked body. But that was only possible for a few seconds. Then two of the male dancers had fetched two large fans which had been part of the scenery and used them to cover the woman's private areas. All this went surprisingly quickly, almost as if the men had practiced what to do in such a situation.

Yet if I had thought the most extraordinary part of the evening was over, I had been wrong. Signora Marchesi sank to her knees and stretched out her arms in a pleading gesture. "I give up, Signor Fantasma!" she cried. "The red paint on my evening dresses, the threats you sent to my servants to keep them from coming to work, the snake in my wardrobe – it's too much! I cannot stand it any longer! Please believe me, I would apologise at once, but I don't know what I've done…"

On the one occasion I had met the diva I had developed a certain dislike for her. But now I couldn't help pitying her. She looked like the picture of misery. "A few days ago you're nearly pushed a little boy down the stairs leading to the opera's entrance doors," Erik called. "That boy was my heir Philippe." "Oh, I'm so sorry!" Signora Marchesi exclaimed. "I'm so sorry! I'll buy him… sweets… or toys… whatever he wants, just to make it up to him! But stop this torture!" She burst into tears.

"Philippe, do you accept the apology?" Erik asked. Judging by his voice he wasn't touched by the singer's sobs. "Yes," my son called, sounding triumphant. I could see him smile yet again. "You can count yourself lucky that my boy has such a soft heart," his teacher remarked. "But I'll keep an eye on you. Oh, and you chorus girls… you won't discuss your scandalous love lives in the corridors again. I don't want my little one to be spoilt by listening to the stories of your… mating." The girls' cheeks turned purple as they flushed with shame. Once more I heard Jacqueline sigh in relief.

I was just wondering how it would go on now when Erik added: "It's time for the interval now. Everyone needs to calm down a little. Especially some of the male visitors appear to feel rather warm. Well, you know where to find the bathrooms…" He gave a soft chuckle, seized Philippe's hand and vanished from sight. After a moment's silence the audience started leaving the auditorium. I noticed that quite a few of them turned around several times, as if afraid to miss something.

"The door is really open," Narelle announced in a delighted voice. "Then I'll go and talk to the other box keepers now. I'll be back in time for the second act." With these words she walked away. "Do we want to go downstairs as well?" I asked with little enthusiasm. The maid nodded. "I'd like to meet my sister. Maybe I could take Antoinette with me, so that you'll have a bit of time for yourself," she suggested, confirming my suspicion that although she had been busy with my child, she had heard our entire conversation. "Oh yes!" my daughter said. "But be careful!" I called after them as they left the box.

Raoul gave me a tentative smile. "Well?" he muttered. "I guess we'll have to go. If we don't, people will talk." He stretched out his arm for me. "And do you think we could…" He cleared his throat before going on: "… I know you discussion isn't over, but could we maybe pretend it was? I don't want people to see us like that…". I nodded slightly and took his hand, trying to smile. There were many things a Countess had to do, and smiling and nodding were two of them.


	53. Chapter FiftyThree

**Chapter Fifty-Three**

**September 14th 1892: **_Raoul_

I loved my wife. I loved her more than any other person, with the exception of our children. But there were moments when I simply couldn't understand what was going on in her head. Now was one of these moments. We had just left the box when I asked:

"Don't we want to go and see Philippe? You know, just to make sure he's all right…".

It was a suggestion, not more and not less. I behaved much more cautiously than before, for I didn't want to make her angry again. I hated it when we were arguing.

Still I thought it necessary to visit our son, if only for a while. I didn't even insist on him coming back with us anymore. Having done a lot of pondering during the first act of the opera, I had drawn the conclusion that I should allow him to stay with the Phantom till the end of the evening. After all, it would only be one or two more hours, then Philippe would be with his family again.

Yet even though Christine seemed a little impressed when I told her all this, she didn't agree with my suggestion.

"We already know our boy is all right," she said. "We've seen him in Box Five. He looked as if he was having a fantastic time."

"Yes, but… but what if he needs something?" I muttered not very convincingly.

She threw me a sideways glance, raising her eyebrows.

"Erik cared for him for the last days," she reminded me. "I'm sure Philippe gets whatever he might need."

"And what about those things the Phantom has done to the chorus girls and that singer? Shouldn't someone talk to our son and make it clear that it's not right to treat people like that?" I wanted to know.

"Compared to the things he has done ten years ago those jokes were quite harmless," Christine argued. "Moreover, they show that he wants to protect our boy from harm. Or would you rather have him being pushed down stairs and exposed to unsuitable stories? Maybe people will be nicer to him if they know who his guardian is."

I remained silent as I took in her words. My wife did have a point. I was aware that the social position could open many doors or else close them. This process already started in the childhood. Here at the opera, without my protection, Philippe was very vulnerable. Perhaps it was indeed better to ensure everyone would be friendly to him.

Christine seemed to interpret my silence as approval.

"Besides, I recall that you were chuckling as well," she pointed out.

I grinned sheepishly, feeling a little guilty.

"Well…" I muttered. "It was a bit funny, yes. But who can guarantee it'll stay like that? Maybe there'll be corpses next time. Will you go and talk to the Phantom about this topic?"

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

"I'll do it," she replied. "After the performance, when we'll fetch Philippe."

"All right," I agreed, kissing the top of her head softly. I was glad that our conversation had turned out that peacefully.

Together we made our way downstairs. I held her hand in mine cautiously, as if it was something very precious. Every now and then I threw her a brief glance. She was such a wonderful person, and I could count myself lucky that she was with me. Perhaps, if I learned to control my temper better when it came to the unavoidable topic of the Phantom, we'd be able to end all our arguments with compromises. I just had to remain calm.

Yet before long I had to learn that _my_ calm wasn't the problem. The moment we entered the room in which the people who usually sat in the boxes spent the interval I knew we should have stayed upstairs. If someone had missed us and asked later where we had been, we could have made up an excuse. But since I hadn't thought of that before, we were now confronted with dozens of conversations about one subject: the Opera Ghost and his heir.

Fortunately the room was so overcrowded that no one noticed us. Our eyes met, and we both nodded, silently confirming that we'd merely listen, without drawing attention on us. Like this, we could find out what the general atmosphere was like before deciding what we'd say ourselves. Right next to the door stood a few girls, all of them about fifteen or sixteen years old. I recognised some of them as members of families we were friends with. They were chatting merrily.

"When my parents forced me to accompany them to the opera, I thought it would be very dull," one of them was just telling the others. "But it's the most exciting event I've been to in months! It was so funny when the Phantom turned all those dancers' faces blue."

She gave a little giggle, her eyes suspiciously bright. Noticing the empty glass in her hand I assumed it had not been filled with water.

The girl next to her, who seemed a bit older, shook her head disapprovingly.

"It's so like you to find such things funny, Marie," she said. "Personally, I was much too concerned about the boy to let myself be entertained by nonsense like that."

"But nothing bad happened to the boy," a third girl argued. "Our box is right next to Box Five, and I heard him laughing all the time. You're much too quickly worried, Suzanne."

"I only care about my fellow people," Suzanne corrected her. "Has none of you wondered where the child comes from? The Opera Ghost could have abducted him somewhere, and now his parents are searching for him. Or maybe… he has bought him! I've heard that sometimes poor families sell their children… "

I followed the conversation with increasing interest. It was almost a little amusing to hear people's wild theories, knowing that I could have told them the answer anytime.

Yet Marie didn't seem impressed.

"Oh, stop being so negative!" she called. "The worst option isn't always the correct one. The solution can also be simple. Why is your brother your parents' heir?"

"Well, because he's their son… oh!" Comprehension dawned on Suzanne's face as she understood what Marie wanted to say. "Do you really think the Phantom is his father?" she asked. "But that would mean that…"

All girls shuddered.

"How could a woman have done that with him?" the third girl asked. Her voice had dropped to a whisper, so that Christine and I had to lean forwards to keep listening.

"I've heard that there are women who get money for… lying with a man, Claire," Suzanne explained hesitantly, as if merely putting that concept into words took her a lot of effort. "And I guess they sometimes become pregnant if they're unlucky…"

"Well, the Phantom must have paid very much then," Marie pointed out. "I mean… he's not even really… human…" She glanced around quickly, obviously afraid he could stand somewhere, listening.

Quickly my wife and I pretended to be engaged in conversation.

"Let's go away from here," Christine muttered pleadingly. "The way they're talking about Erik is horrible."

Looking down I saw that there were tears in her eyes.

"Of course," I muttered, leading her away.

With all the noise the other people were making we only had to take a few steps till we could no longer hear the girls. I almost regretted it a little. They had been funny to listen to, unlike most others in this room. Besides, I could understand them, at least to a certain extend. The thought of an unfortunate woman having to lie with the Phantom wasn't pleasant for me either.

Before we decided whether to stay in the background or join a discussion, a waiter offered us a tray with different kinds of drinks. Taking two glasses of wine and handing one of them to my wife I remarked:

"The atmosphere is rather positive, isn't it? All in all, everyone seems to approve of the Opera Ghost's doing.".

"That's because nothing serious happened," she said. "As long as the chandelier doesn't fall down from the ceiling, people regard everything as a nice pastime."

I nodded in agreement.

"But what about Philippe?" I then returned to a more important topic. "You heard those girls; they're already wondering where he comes from. Should we tell them he's our son?"

Slowly Christine brought the glass to her lips and took a sip of wine. When she was finished with that activity, she seemed to have done some thinking.

"I'm not sure," she told me. "If we said it, wouldn't it only make the rumours worse? I mean, how would we explain the fact that Erik is allowed to… well, to borrow our boy?"

"People will probably stop gossiping more quickly if they don't know who he is," I muttered. "They won't see him very often anyway, and only from a distance. One day they'll simply accept that he's there. After all, there's not much talk about where the Phantom himself comes from, is there?"

"So we won't tell anyone, at least not now," Christine concluded.

I had no idea whether it was the right decision, but for the moment it was the safest. Judging by the expression on my wife's face she shared my opinion.

We continued wandering through the room, listening to fragments of discussions here and there, yet none was very interesting. After a few minutes we passed an elderly couple, the Baron Gilbert Davon and his wife Lavinia. We had met them on several occasions. Moreover, I could have recognised the Baroness without looking at her. It never ceased to amaze me that a woman with such a booming voice had never considered a career as an opera singer. Eavesdropping on any conversation in which she was involved was about as difficult as it had been to persuade Antoinette to come with us to the opera.

"I've told you once, Gilbert, and I'll tell you again," she said. "There is but one possibility where the Phantom could have got that boy he calls his heir: Christine Daaé."

I felt my wife's body grow tense and squeezed her hand reassuringly. There was no way in which those people could have found out the truth. I listened attentively as the woman went on:

"I'm sure she is the child's mother, and the Ghost is the father. I always suspected there was more between them. All those stories one used to hear about the poor singer being abducted and held prisoner down in his lair… I've never believed them.".

She looked at her husband, apparently seeking approval. Yet it didn't come. Instead, the Baron argued:

"But she hasn't been to the opera for more than ten years, and that boy can't be older than four or five. Besides, she is married to the Comte de Chagny. We saw them at that dinner a few months ago, don't you remember?".

I gave a soundless sigh of relief, and Christine seemed to relax as well. Fortunately that Baron was far more reasonable that his wife.

But the only reaction to his sensible words was an impatient gesture by the Baroness.

"That only proves that you have no imagination, my darling," she told him in a much too sweet voice. "All that is merely a façade. Actually Christine has never stopped meeting her lover, the Opera Ghost. She only married the young Comte to have a respectable life among the best part of society. Poor boy – he surely still think she loved him, while she betrays with that masked madman..."

She continued talking, but I had had enough. Anger welled up inside me, stronger than anything I experienced in quite a while. I felt like banging my fist against the wall… or throwing my glass to the floor… or shouting. Yet unsurprisingly it was Christine who reacted first.

"How dare you talk about us like that?" she yelled, her voice breaking.

Suddenly all eyed were fixed on us. So much for staying in the background…

**Author's note: **You probably noticed that I've done the paragraphs differently this time. After two reviewers (let alone my two lovely betas) had advised me to do it like that, I decided that it was worth the try. But of course I need your opinions now. Does it make reading easier or maybe more difficult? Just tell me...


	54. Chapter FiftyFour

**Author's note:** I was overwhelmed by how much feed-back I got. Thank you so much!

**Chapter Fifty-Four**

**September 14th 1892:** _Raoul_

The Baroness was the first to regain her composure. Quickly she forced a smile on her face.

"My dear Christine!" she exclaimed, as if meeting her were the best thing that could have happened. "It is such a joy to see you again! How are you? And how is that lovely daughter of yours, Alexandrine?"

She still seemed to believe that she could avoid an ugly scene with a few pleasantries.

I, however, knew better. I hadn't failed to notice the almost dangerous sparkle in Christine's eyes. She would say what she wanted to, and nobody would keep her from doing so, least of all Baroness Lavinia, who had only made things worse by using the wrong name for our girl and leaving out the boy completely, even though we had mentioned both of them countless times on every occasion when we had met. It showed how little she cared.

"My daughter's name is Antoinette," my wife corrected her in a low voice, which was so full of barely suppressed rage that the little hairs on my arms and legs stood on end.

The tension in the room was almost tangible. It was clear that it was only a matter of time till she'd start shouting. But she was pulling herself together, apparently for the sake of saying a few more things first.

"I also have a second child, whom you seem to have forgotten," she went on, taking a step towards the Baroness, who shrank back immediately. If it hadn't been both ridiculous and pointless, she'd have probably hidden behind her husband. "I don't quite understand how you could have forgotten about him," my wife continued. "After all, you've seen him less than an hour ago. It is Philippe, the Opera Ghost's heir."

Sharp intakes of breath and excited whispering followed this statement. I could only hope that she knew what she was doing. Christine looked around, the expression on her face one of pure disdain.

"You love hearing such things, don't you?" she called. "The singer and the Opera Ghost – what a story! You loved it ten years ago, and now there'll finally be a second part. You must be so happy!"

No one in the crowd moved a muscle. They all stood in stunned silence, waiting for the things to come. And come they did, as soon as my wife had taken a deep breath.

"I'm afraid I have to disappoint you," she said. "There is no scandal I could tell you of. The Opera Ghost is not Philippe's father. I don't have a fantastic love affair with him, neither behind my husband's back nor in front of him. But the Phantom is my friend, and a more wonderful person than you could ever imagine. He's friendly and loyal. But I guess you don't know what those terms mean anyway. He would never spread such disgusting lies about my family and me… unlike you."

The Baroness had at least enough decency to blush. Still she made an attempt to improve the situation, of course in the worst way possible: She tried talking to her again.

"My dear child, I can assure you that none of us wanted to hurt your feelings," she muttered in what she probably thought was a soothing voice. Apparently she didn't have a lot of experience in comforting others. "I understand that you're very upset. Has the Phantom taken your son away from you? Does he force you to say such things about him?"

"No!" Christine yelled. Several people jumped as her wine glass shattered on the floor. "He has not taken him away from me. Nor has he abducted, stolen or bought him, for that matter."

I could see Suzanne clap a hand over her mouth in shock as she realised her conversation had been overheard. People were closing in around us, forming a circle. Even the waiters no longer tried to appear uninterested, but joined the crowd. Everyone knew the final revelation was near.

Unsurprisingly it was the Baroness who asked the vital question.

"What is the Phantom doing with the boy then?" At least she was wise enough not to come up with her own suspicions this time.

"He is his teacher," Christine replied, as if that was the most logical answer there was. "And what a good teacher he is! Soon Philippe will know everything he does." She smiled brightly.

At once discussions erupted everywhere.

"Isn't that very dangerous?"

"Of course it is. How could she let this happen?"

"The poor child! He'll soon become a murderer!"

"And one of us could be the first victim!"

"We should leave immediately."

"We can't do that – the entrance doors are locked!"

Christine stood in the middle of the commotion and seemed to enjoy herself. I was amazed by how calm she had grown. It was as if with every word that left her mouth a weight was lifted from her shoulders.

After a few minutes the conversations died away again. Somehow people had lost their appetite for gossip. It was far less pleasant when the person one talked about was present. A general feeling of helplessness spread. Nobody seemed to know how to cope with the news that there'd soon be two Opera Ghosts instead of one.

"M. le Comte!"

I jumped slightly as the Baron addressed me. Hesitantly I took a step forwards. Apparently most other people hadn't noticed my presence until now, for they were gazing at me in surprise as he went on:

"Can't you help us?".

"I don't know what I could do for you," I murmured. Frankly I was rather certain that all those people needed was a little time to take in the new information. It had been just the same for me.

When her husband didn't go on right away, the Baroness took over.

"It's common knowledge that your wife's nerves have never been the best," she approached the topic carefully. "Surely you'd never allow her to be friends with the Opera Ghost, would you? And the idea that your child your will be his heir is even more ridiculous. Why don't you simply tell us the truth and take the girl away from here? Maybe you could find her a place to lie down. She seems to be very distressed…"

I had been too fascinated by Christine's words to be angry during the last minutes, yet now the feeling returned.

"Are you calling my wife a liar?" I growled.

"But no…" the woman replied uneasily. "We all understand… Such a difficult situation is bound to leave its traces in a young person's mind…"

"So you're calling her a lunatic? Well, that's so much better," I snarled. "To your information: Everything she told you is true. The Opera Ghost and her are friends. Our son is his heir and his pupil. Why I allow all that? I love my wife and trust her to make decisions of her own. Not every woman is as dependent on her husband – Or should I say, his money? – as you are, Madame." I underlined my statement with a nod and took Christine's hand. "Can we go, love?" I asked tenderly.

"Of course, Raoul," she answered.

The crowd parted as we made our way to the door. It was as if we were a king and a queen… or else two people suffering from a contagious disease. For some reason both ideas made me giggle. I felt heady, as if I had drunk much more than the glass of wine that I was just thrusting into a puzzled-looking waiter's hand. It seemed to be the same for my wife; she was still smiling her serene smile.

It was only when the door closed behind us that I realised what we had done, what _I_ had done. Those people would probably never talk to me again. And the gossiping would only increase. I could almost hear the chatting that had to start this very moment in the room we had just left.

´That Comte de Chagny must be out of his mind.´

´He lets his wife be friends with the Phantom.´

´Who knows what they are doing when they're together?´

"Raoul?" Christine said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong with you? You've grown all pale…"

"I'm fine," I mumbled. "Really… I'm fine…"

Suddenly the smile vanished from her face.

"It's me, isn't it?" she asked. "You're ashamed of what I said, ashamed of meeting those people again and having to answer their questions. You're ashamed of having a wife like me, one who doesn't fit in. I'm sorry, but those things in there… they had to be said! I know it's not the way such things are dealt with in your circles. I just like being honest. I could change many aspects of me to become a girl worthy of a Comte. But I can't change what's inside of me. I apologise for being such a disappointment."

She wanted to turn around, yet I didn't let go of her hand.

"You have nothing to apologise for," I stressed. "Everybody in there should apologise. They insulted our whole family. You were very courageous. I'd have never dared stand up against all those people."

"You did," she reminded me.

"Only at the very end," I muttered, shrugging. "I should have supported you much sooner."

"You supported me by simply being there," she told me. "Without that knowledge I wouldn't have said any of those things."

For a moment we were silent, lost in thought. Then she said:

"I still am a little worried, though. What will we do the next time we'll meet them?".

"Oh, that's easy: I'll shout at them, and you'll stay in the background," I replied casually. "There are quite a few things I'd love to tell certain people, and now that I've seen how it is done, I'll finally dare do it."

We beamed at each other, and our lips met in a kiss. It was true that sometimes I couldn't understand what was going on in my wife's head. But at the moment I could, and I liked it very much.


	55. Chapter FiftyFive

**Author's note: **My deepest apologies to my dear readers! This chapter was finished on Wednesday, but I simply couldn't upload it.

**Chapter Fifty-Five**

**September 14th 1892:** _Christine_

I was still slightly out of breath as we returned to our box, and our long kiss was not the only reason for it. I felt as if during my little speeches I had lost so much air that I'd never be able to fill my lungs again. Had there ever been an occasion when I had talked so much in such a short time? If there had been one, I couldn't remember it. Surrounded by people like Meg, whose ability to talk quickly was almost legendary, I had been lucky if I had managed to squeeze in a word every now and then.

Yet despite all that, I also felt wonderfully liberated. I had told those people my opinion without holding myself back. And my husband hadn't looked into the other direction, embarrassed about my behaviour, but he had stood by me. This fact surprised me most. After all, Raoul had been a member of those circles for all his life and knew that disagreeing too much wasn't exactly popular there. And still he had supported me. It was a small miracle.

"I wonder where the others are," he remarked as we settled down on our seats. Throwing a glance at his pocket watch he added: "The interval will be over in just a few minutes.".

"I'm sure Jacqueline won't manage to drag Antoinette away from the dancers one moment earlier than absolutely necessary," I replied with a smile. "Who knows when she'll come to the opera again?"

Grinning slightly Raoul said: "I guess that will be sooner rather than later. Or are you planning to wait for another ten years till your next visit?".

"Certainly not," I stressed. "It is nice to be here again."

He nodded. A few moments passed in silence as we both looked at the auditorium, which was slowly filling with people again.

Suddenly he asked: "Do you miss performing on stage, Christine?".

I glanced at him in surprise.

"What makes you utter such a question?" I wanted to know warily. Had he heard more gossip than I had, rumours about me, maybe?

Before Erik had returned into my life, I hadn't mentioned the opera for years. It had become something like an indecent topic in our home. Even the children knew that by now.

He shrugged.

"I was just thinking that… well, perhaps it's the next step," he explained. "You know, first you started talking about the opera again, then we even came here to attend a performance… And then there's this new diva. You may not have noticed it yourself, but I saw you flinch every time she made an appearance. Didn't you wonder whether you could sing better than her?"

"Of course I could," I replied instantly, a little indignant because he had asked that question at all. "I studied her role during my training with Erik, and it's not that difficult. Signora Marchesi is simply…" I interrupted myself, trying to find the right words to describe it. "If she couldn't perform the role decently because it's too demanding for her voice, I wouldn't criticise her, but the people who gave her the part," I eventually went on. "Yet to me it seems like she's underestimating it, so she doesn't give all she can. It's a shame, really…"

Raoul listened, not once commenting on my words. I was aware that my answer had been a little too detailed, yet somehow I hadn't been able to stop myself sooner. When I was finished at last I gave him an apologetic smile.

"That was probably more than you wanted to know," I muttered. I was a little embarrassed, wondering where all that had come from. Would I end up talking that much all the time now?

"On the contrary, my dear," he said. "That was very informative. Now I know that you'd like to perform again."

I sighed. It hadn't been my intention to reveal that much. Or maybe it had… I couldn't be sure about it. Usually my friend Meg was the one I shared my dreams and ambitions with. At least it had been like that ten years ago, when I had still had ambitions. They had somehow vanished as I had left the opera. Being a Countess should have been enough for me, shouldn't it?

But it was not enough; I could clearly feel it. For such a long time I had suppressed those emotions, and now they were stronger than ever. It was as if my husband's questions had pulled the stopper out of a gigantic bathtub, plunging me into a vortex of my own feelings. Singing had once been my whole life, and maybe it had been wrong to give it up that abruptly. Maybe it was time to start again.

Raoul's fingers tapping my arm lightly made me aware that I hadn't reacted to his last remark.

"It's not even that much the performing I miss," I said pensively. "It's the singing itself. The feelings it gives me… they're difficult to describe. They're good… very good…" My voice trailed off as I recalled the joy of exploring my abilities to their limits and beyond, the excitement of trying a new piece, the pleasure of wandering through life with a song in my head.

"Your eyes are all dreamy," he whispered, his voice somewhere between teasing and tender. Taking my hand he pressed a soft kiss to it. "You know that I'd do anything to make you happy," he went on. "If it's that important to you, you can take singing lessons again. We'll find you a good teacher. And who knows? Maybe you'll perform on stage again one day."

I shook my head with a slight laugh. The latter was highly unlikely. Except for a few lullabies every now and then, I hadn't sung for ten years. That was a fact that couldn't be undone by a few lessons, and Raoul knew it. During my time at the opera he had picked up more than enough about such things. Yet that only made his words nicer.

Still there was something that irritated me. It took me some moments to realise what it was.

"You want to ´find a good teacher´ for me?" I repeated slowly. "And what about Erik?"

The expression on his face changed abruptly. Now he looked as if he had a bad toothache.

"Oh, Christine…" he muttered. "I accept that he's your friend. But I don't think I could live with him being your teacher again. Have you forgotten what that man can do with his voice? You told me about his power over you yourself. What makes you think that he wouldn't take advantage of it? He still loves you…"

I listened to him, not quite meeting his eyes. His analysis of a possible situation was rather accurate. No one knew more about the effects of Erik's voice on me than I did. Of course I didn't simply jump to conclusions and accused him of trying to use dishonest methods as soon as he had the chance to do so, but I could understand why Raoul suspected such things. I hadn't given him a reason for trusting him yet, and I doubted I'd ever be able to.

Besides, even if my former teacher did not intend to influence me while singing, it could happen. I still vividly remembered the day when he had given his mechanical bird Orpheus a voice for Philippe. His song hadn't even been for me at that time, and yet it had affected me. What if that would happen again and none of us would be strong enough to stop? And then there was something else… But I could have never told Raoul about it. It would have hurt him too much.

So I merely said: "You're right. I don't think Erik would try to do something to me, but it wouldn't be fair to take lessons with him again. It could make him believe that… you know, that my feelings for him had changed. I don't want to raise his hopes.".

My husband smiled.

"You're such a thoughtful person, Christine," he whispered softly. "We'll get a wonderful teacher for you. I'll start looking tomorrow morning."

Fortunately I didn't have to search for a reply, for in this moment Antoinette and Jacqueline came back. It was amazing that a single child could produce so much noise and action.

"You wouldn't believe what I've seen!" our daughter cried, bouncing up and down in excitement. "There was this girl who could – "

She was interrupted by a melodic gong announcing the second act.

"You can tell us everything later," I hissed quickly, and Jacqueline pulled her onto her chair. I heard a soft clicking sound and knew that Narelle, who had entered the box with the others, had closed the door.

I was ridiculously relieved that I didn't have to talk anymore, neither to Raoul nor to Antoinette. The idea of taking singing lessons again had come so quickly and I had hardly had enough time to think about it. In general I quite liked it. It would give me back my favourite activity. And surely it would be better to have a teacher who wasn't Erik. Yet that had nothing to do with the fact that I might not trust him. The point was that I didn't trust myself. What if the regular meetings would make my feelings for him grow stronger? No, I couldn't risk it. For my family's sake.


	56. Chapter FiftySix

**Chapter Fifty-Six**

**September 14th 1892: **_Erik_

"Uncle Erik? Uncle Erik, the opera is going on!" Philippe called, tugging at my sleeve. "And you're not even looking into the right direction. The stage is over there."

"Pardon?" I muttered, turning my head far too slowly to show real interest. Hearing the music start I understood what he was talking about. "Oh… yes, yes," I added. "Thank you for telling me."

Content with my reply the boy gazed at the stage again, which allowed me to let my thoughts wander. As much as I regretted not being mentally present during the second act, there were more important things for my mind now than listening to some lovesick people singing about their misery.

My own misery was much more tragic. Half an hour ago I had still been happy. I had thought that following Christine and her husband in the interval had been quite a good idea. Well, technically I hadn't followed them, but waited for them. After all, it had been fairly certain that they'd end up in the room where all the rich people went in the interval to exchange gossip and drink enough alcohol to survive the next act.

Personally, I despised that pointless chatting between large gulps of wine, and not only because no one would ever feel like chatting with me. I'd rather spend my time doing more sensible things. Judging by their reluctance Christine and the Vicomte would have preferred being somewhere else as well, and still they had come here. The call of society was a powerful magnet.

At first I had hardly been able to understand anything. The secret passageway in which I had stood was very useful as a shortcut, yet one could only hear properly if there weren't too many people talking at the same time. Fortunately all conversations had quickly melted into one, and for a reason I didn't know Christine had been in the centre of it, revealing that my heir and her son were one and the same person.

With every word I had heard I had grown more fascinated. The Christine speaking hadn't been the shy chorus girl I had taught to sing, but a self-confident woman, ready to defend her opinion, no matter what it would take. And what an opinion it had been! She had actually proclaimed that she and I were friends, just like that. My heart had been swelling with love. How brave she had been! And how honest! Those people had given her plenty of possibilities to get out of it by blaming me. It would have been easy to say that I had manipulated her into giving me her son. But she had told the truth.

Admittedly there was a little part of me that had not been content with her. That part had made me return to Box Five, where Philippe had already been waiting for me to bring him his glass of juice, instead of trying to overhear what had happened between Christine and her husband after they had left the room. It was this part of me that was whispering into my ear even now. _She called you her friend. That's all you are for her. Soon you'll be reduced to a mere acquaintance, and after that she won't know you at all._

I gave a soundless sigh, cautious not to let the boy notice anything. Of course I'd have preferred it if she had called me the love of her life. Yet that wouldn't have been the truth. And I couldn't praise her honesty in one moment and ask her to lie in the next… could I? Such difficult questions, and no answers… Even I wasn't omniscient.

That little part of me had grown stronger in the last minutes as I had watched my beloved and her husband in the box opposite mine. Listening to their conversation would have been impossible with all the background noise. But fortunately that hadn't been necessary. One of the abilities I rarely used had come in very useful: lip-reading. I wasn't as good at it as I'd have liked to be, yet it had been enough to understand most of what they had said.

During the fist one or two minutes I had been positively excited. So Christine did want to sing again. And she wanted to take lessons. I would get her back as my student. At once I had started making plans in my head. She'd certainly remember the basic principles, but we'd have to work on her technique. There were so many songs I'd like to study with her…

Yet it had turned out that I had rejoiced too soon. The Vicomte hadn't wanted me to be her teacher again. Well, I could understand him. If I had been him, I wouldn't have allowed it either. But Christine didn't need his permission. She had done a lot of things the way she thought was right. If she had waited for her husband's approval to Philippe becoming my pupil, we wouldn't have had a single lesson yet.

With that knowledge at the back of my mind it had been even harder to comprehend why she had accepted his condition of getting another teacher for her. Where had the self-confident woman gone? I had felt like shouting at her to think about it again. But of course I hadn't done so. Sometimes it was better not to let people know one had overheard them.

Staring into space dully I pressed the fingers of my right hand against my temple, feeling a headache approach me. Yet it was not the normal kind of headache, but the one which came from my mind, telling me clearly that I had spent too much time pondering. I ignored it. No matter how often I tried, I couldn't understand Christine's arguments. From what I had been able to read from her lovely lips she had said that she didn't want to raise my hopes by taking lessons with me again. Instead, she'd rather go to some insensitive person who'd ruin her voice. Did she really hate me that much?

No, I decided. She didn't hate me. On the contrary: She wanted to protect me from false hopes. The problem was that I didn't want to be protected. I wanted to be with Christine, if only as her teacher. True, maybe it would hurt me. But not meeting her would hut me even more. I realised in surprise that even seeing her with the Vicomte was strangely comforting. It made me feel a little bit less lonely.

A slightly annoyed cry of "Uncle Erik!" reminded me that I wasn't alone in Box Five.

"It's not funny when you're not paying attention," Philippe complained. "Without you to explain everything to me it's all boring. I can't even understand what they're singing about."

I gave him an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry," I said. It occurred to me how rarely I had used those words before I had met him. Now they came quite naturally.

For the rest of the act I concentrated entirely on the things happening on stage. With Philippe asking question after question it wasn't even possible to let my thoughts drift off for as long as a moment. Yet perhaps that wasn't too bad after all. It kept me from brooding over why I couldn't be Christine's teacher. But it also made me aware of how boring the plot truly was. It was difficult to find interesting facts I could tell the boy.

Maybe we should have planned a few nice surprises for this part of the opera as well. At least that would have made it a little more fascinating to look at. Yet I had assumed that the events in the first act would be enough to make people aware of Philippe's presence and what it meant for them. That goal had doubtlessly been achieved. Every other minute I noticed someone glance up at Box Five in respect, sometimes mingled with a drop of fear. It was just what I wanted.

Still I decided not to stay as the act came to its end. A second interval and the final act were more than I could bear tonight. Besides, I suspected that my boy would fall asleep before long. His head was resting on top of the balustrade, and his eyelids seemed very heavy. Occasionally he closed his eyes, only to open them again and blink hectically a few moments later.

"Why don't we leave now?" I suggested. "All that singing must have made you very tired. We can go down to my house, then I'll tell you the end over a cup of milk."

He turned his head in my direction and nodded slightly. I seized his little hand, and we made our way back to my lair. Quite a few people were walking around, but I avoided meeting them. I preferred being alone with Philippe now.

That was the second reason why I had wanted to go. Soon he'd return to his parents, and I wouldn't see him until the next morning. It sounded like a very long time. So I at least wanted to spend the last hour with him at the place that had been the home for both of us during the last days. I could easily bring him to the right box in time.

After some minutes I had to stop, pick up the boy from the floor and carry him. He had grown too tired to walk. He wrapped his arms around my neck and buried his face at my throat. The small fedora slipped off his head, and I picked it up as well. I inhaled deeply, taking in his scent as his breath tickled my skin. It were these moments that made life worth living.

My hand had already seized the handle of the door to the passage leading down to the cellars when a voice made me stop dead.

"Erik!" it cried. "Where do you think you're going?"

I didn't have to turn around to know whom it belonged to. Still I did it.

"Oh… good evening, Christine," I said.


	57. Chapter FiftySeven

**Chapter Fifty-Seven**

**September 14th 1892: **_Erik_

"Where are you going?" Christine repeated with a little more urgency.

"Down… to my lair," I muttered.

Wasn't it strange that this petite woman could reduce me, a man a foot taller than her and more than twice her age, to a little boy, with nothing but raised eyebrows and a stern voice? Yet I had no time to think about this phenomenon, for the expression on her face showed that she didn't like my reply. Hastily I added:

"We just wanted to drink a cup of milk before the end of the performance. Then I'd have brought him back.".

That explanation obviously wasn't better than the first one, at least not for Christine.

"Do you expect me to believe that?" she asked. "You would never miss an entire act, just for a cup of milk. You love the opera far too much to do that."

"I love Philippe much more than the opera," I told her simply. "If I had to choose between them, I'd always pick him."

My reply seemed to take the wind out of her sails. She looked from her son, who had fallen asleep by now, to me. And then something extraordinary happened: Her face, which had had such an angry expression moments before, split into a smile. She took a few steps forwards till she stood directly in front of me. Her sweet scent mingled with the boy's. The mixture almost made me dizzy.

Christine lifted her hand, and for a split-second I thought she wanted to stroke me. Yet she merely brushed over Philippe's head. I saw the affection in her eyes, not knowing whether it was meant to be for him or me, but desperately hoping it was the latter.

"You really love him, don't you?" she whispered, her face inches away from mine. If she had been a little closer, I could have easily kissed her. Yet I didn't dare move a muscle.

"Yes, I do," I breathed, my voice shaking slightly. "Almost as much as I love – "

"Don't say it!" she called so suddenly that I jumped. The boy stirred and muttered something, but didn't wake up. Before I knew what was going on, Christine was standing a few feet away from me again, an expression of horror contorting her beautiful features.

"What did I do?" I asked, completely puzzled. Such reactions were usually reserved for people who saw my face without the mask.

She stared at me so wildly that I actually touched my face to check whether the mask was still there. It was. So why was Christine looking at me as if she had seen a ghost, when just moments before we had been that… close? Before I could repeat my question, she was already giving the answer.

"Don't say that you love me… please!" she told me in a choked whisper. Did I really see tears in her eyes, or was it merely a trick of the light?

"But I do," I muttered. "And you know it. What difference does it make whether I say it or not?"

"I just can't bear hearing it," she explained, now gazing at the floor. "It makes me sad…"

"Oh, and you think it makes me very happy to say it, even though I know it's pointless?" I asked, unable to keep the hint of sarcasm out of my voice. Among the chaos of emotions her reaction had caused there also was a little annoyance.

Still not looking at me Christine murmured: "Then why do you say it at all?".

"It's the truth," I replied matter-of-factly. "And the truth doesn't become any less true if we don't talk about it." I could feel myself growing more and more agitated as I continued: "Does the sky become less blue if no one mentions its colour? Does music become less beautiful if no one talks about it? No! Those are facts, just like my feelings for you. I love you, Christine. That won't change, whether we speak about it or not.".

I was rather satisfied with my little speech. Yet when I drew nearer to see whether it had had an effect on her, I noticed a big tear gliding down her rosy cheek. At once my contentment gave way to guilt.

"I didn't mean to be harsh," I muttered, glancing at the miserable Christine, who now looked like a girl rather than a woman again. It wasn't easy to do both things at the same time, but after a moment I managed to pat her on the shoulder with my right hand, while my left arm was still wrapped tightly around the sleeping boy. I felt very helpless. Dealing with a person who shouted was much easier than dealing with one who cried.

Patiently I waited till the last tears had rolled down her face. After a few minutes she murmured:

"Why do things have to be like this?".

"What do you mean?" I wanted to know. Again, I wasn't sure what she was referring to. Was she angry because I had come that close to her or else disappointed because I hadn't embraced her? It was difficult to guess what she wanted.

"Why does all this have to be that hard?" she asked, looking up at me. The sight of her swollen eyes nearly reduced me to tears as well. "Why can't I simply love Raoul and have nothing but feeling of friendship for you? Why is there such a muddle of emotions inside me?"

"Well… I don't know," I muttered automatically. My mind was too busy taking in what I had just heard to come up with a better reply. Could it really be possible that she did feel more than friendship for me?

It seemed that Christine hadn't heard my remark, for she went on without commenting on it.

"When I'm close to you, my whole body hurts, here…" She placed a hand on her stomach. "… and here…" Her hand wandered upwards to her chest, and I tried hard not to stare at her bosom. "…and here." She pointed at her head. "Ten minutes ago I sat in the box and was fine. Why am I hurting all of a sudden?"

I shrugged, feeling even more helpless than before. There was an explanation in my head, ready to be uttered, but I didn't like it at all.

"Maybe… you can't stand the sight of me," I suggested hesitantly. "I mean… you came here to look for Philippe, didn't you? So it's only logical that – "

Yet to my utter surprise she shook her head.

"I wanted to talk to you, Erik," she corrected me in a low voice. "And when I saw you leave Box Five, I assumed you'd return to your home."

I raised an eyebrow.

"And why were you so angry at me then?" I asked a little suspiciously.

"I was never angry," she replied. "It was just… all those strange feelings suddenly filled me, and I thought it best to hide them behind rudeness. Of course I knew you wouldn't just drag off the boy." She gave me a tentative smile, which I returned in the same way. I was glad and disappointed at the same time because we were no longer talking about her feelings. Perhaps it was best to give the topic a little rest.

"What did you want to talk about?" I wanted to know.

"Well, Raoul and I… we had a conversation in the interval… about the possibility that I could…"

She didn't seem to know how to go on, so I took over.

"…take singing lessons again," I finished her sentence. "But why do you come to me then? I thought you wanted to find another teacher for you."

Her eyes grew wide.

"How did you know that?" she whispered.

"Let's just say that the next time you have a confidential talk with your dear husband you should better draw the curtains," I answered. "One of my less famous abilities is lip-reading."

Involuntarily she brought her hand to her mouth.

"So you already know it," she stated. "Oh Erik, I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you in person. That's why I'm here."

"Why don't you skip the first part and come right to the reason?" I suggested. "Why don't you want me as your teacher? Your voice could become as fantastic as it has once been. Of course it would take some months, maybe a year, and it wouldn't be easy, but another teacher wouldn't be able to do it more quickly either. So if that's the reason – "

"It's not that," she assured me. "The truth is much worse. In a way you were right: I can't stand the sight of you… but not in a bad sense!" she hastened to add, probably because of the hurt expression on my face. "On the contrary… it hurts me to see you because… it's as if all those feelings inside me were fighting. A part of me wants to embrace and comfort you as a friend, and another part wants to kiss you."

I swallowed hard, wondering why my mouth had grown all dry.

"And which one is stronger at the moment?" I asked in a hoarse whisper.

"The part in favour of kissing you," she breathed. When had she had the time to close the distance between us? Our bodies were touching ever so slightly.

"We mustn't do this, Christine," I muttered, trying to persuade myself as much as her.

"I know," she gave back. "But it would feel so good…"

There was no time for thinking after that statement. The next moment she had flung her arms around me, and I held her in a one-armed embrace. Philippe nearly got crushed between us, yet luckily he didn't wake up. We kissed with a fierce passion I hadn't known either of us possessed. It was the end of all discussions, the end of all pondering. I was reigned by my instinct. And my instinct told me very clearly what it wanted: Get as much of her as possible!

I had no idea how far we'd have gone, whether I'd have laid down the boy on the floor sometime, pushed Christine against the nearest wall and taken her. I'd never find out. We were interrupted by a shout.

"Gilbert! Come and look at this!" a female voice squealed.

We broke apart to see an elderly woman standing a few feet away, an unpleasant smirk on her face.

"My, my," she drawled. "Isn't this a happy little family?"


	58. Chapter FiftyEight

**Chapter Fifty-Eight**

**September 14th 1892: **_Erik_

Christine gasped in shock.

"Oh no!" she breathed.

Looking around frantically she seemed to search for a way of escaping, but there was none. The corridor through which we had come here was blocked by the woman, and the only door led down into my world. She looked at it, then at me, as if asking for my opinion. I shook my head slightly. Going there would have only made things worse, for it would have revealed that this was the entrance to my underground labyrinth. Besides, I didn't want to run away.

The woman turned around, probably to check whether that Gilbert she had called was indeed coming, which gave me a moment to talk to my beloved.

"Who is she?" I asked in a low voice. I was rather certain I had seen her at the opera a few times, but there were so many people here at every performance that I couldn't possibly tell them apart, even if I had bothered to try.

"Her name is Baroness Lavinia Devon," she told me. "She was… Have you heard about the… erm, the incident in the interval involving her and me?" She threw me a glance that indicated she already suspected my answer could be yes. After what she had recently found out about me ´overhearing´ the conversation with her husband that didn't surprise me.

I nodded briefly.

"I happened to be in a passageway next to the room," I replied. "You were wonderful."

The ghost of a proud smile flitted over her face, but she grew serious again much too quickly.

"I was foolish," she corrected me. "Foolish to believe I'd get away with something like that… I made a fool of the Baroness and laughed about her ridiculous theories. Someone like her doesn't just forget such things."

"But you didn't mean her as a person, did you?" I argued. "From what I heard it sounded as if her remarks had merely been the final straw."

"That's true," she admitted. "I could as well have shouted at anyone else in the room, angry as I was. Yet that doesn't make a difference."

She was right: At the moment it didn't make the slightest difference. As the woman faced us again, I saw her eyes glittering maliciously.

"I knew all this nonsense about you just being a friend of him couldn't be true," she said to Christine, looking through me as if I wasn't worth talking to anyway. "A friend of the Opera Ghost – laughable! I doubt he even knows what friendship is."

Christine glanced at me nervously, probably afraid I could attack the woman any moment. Yet I had no intention to do so, at least not at the moment. As furious as I had been at first, I thought the situation rather amusing now. There weren't many people who dared talk about me like that, and I was curious to find out what made her that courageous. Noticing the Baroness swaying slightly as she approached us, I realised that the consumption of too much alcohol had caused her bravery. I could only guess that she had needed quite a lot of it to deal with the shame of being contradicted by a former singer.

"Let's see what she'll come up with next," I whispered.

"Lust… oh yes, that's a feeling you know," the woman went on. "You lusted after her ten years ago, and you're still doing it…"

I gave her a sarcastic smile.

"So that's the reason why you're this angry," I said. "You're jealous because even I have someone to kiss, whereas you… Where is Gilbert? I suppose that's your husband, isn't he?"

"He's not here," she stated the obvious. "He must have gone to the bathroom, and I didn't notice it. How strange… But that doesn't matter. He'll be here any moment."

Personally, I highly doubted it. The nearest bathroom was about ten minutes from here. Suddenly an idea entered my mind. It was an extraordinary idea, and Christine would probably think me insane. But it could work.

"I have a plan how to get out of this situation without anyone finding out what happened between us," I whispered into her ear.

"And it doesn't involve… you know…?" she asked, touching my cloak unobtrusively. It took me a moment to realise she was referring to my Punjab Lasso, which was hidden under my cloak.

"No one would be harmed," I assured her. "But you'd have to kiss me again… as if you meant it," I added, just in case.

"I meant it the first time," she muttered, making a pleasant shiver run down my spine. Moreover, I regarded her comment as approval of my idea.

"What are you whispering about?" the Baroness wanted to know. "It's simply despicable… a married woman and a murderer… and all that in front of the child!"

"Oh, it's the child you're worried about?" I asked. "That's not a problem. You see…" I explained while putting the boy down carefully. It was a sign of how boring the opera had been that he continued slumbering peacefully, even on the floor. "…Christine and I decided to give you a little encore. After all, you only arrived at the end of the first time."

Christine looked shocked, yet as I murmured "Trust me!", she smiled at the woman and nodded.

At first, when I put my arms around my beloved's waist, I was afraid it wouldn't work. Where was the incredible passion we had felt before to come from all of a sudden? The question was answered at the first tentative contact of our lips: It came from inside us, breaking free like hot lava at the eruption of a volcano. Within moments I had forgotten the Baroness and our surroundings. Even Philippe's presence was merely lingering at the edge of my mind.

I closed my eyes, for all that mattered now was feeling, feeling her hands wander up and down my back, feeling her soft curves press against my chest, feeling her tongue nudge my lips. I parted them readily, giving a breathy moan as it invaded my mouth. The self-conscious girl had turned into a woman again, a woman who knew what she wanted: me. And I wanted her. I couldn't remember having ever wanted something that badly.

Before long there was a physical sign of my arousal as well, pressing into her stomach. One of her hands left my back and came to the front, moving further and further down…

"No…" It took me a moment to realise that I had been the one to say it, to break the kiss and to remove her hand before it could reach its destination. Opening my eyes I saw Christine glance up at me with a strange mixture of disappointment, arousal and astonishment. The expression on my face probably resembled hers.

"We mustn't do this," I repeated what I had told her before, hoping it would work better this time. "I won't let you betray your husband, just because we feel like it at the moment. I don't think you could live with it."

For a few seconds I had the impression that she wanted to disagree, but then she seemed to change her mind.

"You're right," she muttered. "Of course you are."

It was only then that I remembered the other woman. She was still standing at the same spot, her slightly open mouth and the confused gaze giving her the look of someone who had just been hit over the head with a heavy object. Obviously we had done our job very well. Noticing that there was nothing to gape at anymore, she shook her head, as if trying to get rid of a dream.

"Scandalous… dreadful…" she said, though without real conviction. "Wait till your poor, poor husband hears about all this! He'll be – "

"Her husband will never hear about it. Nor will anyone else," I corrected her.

She looked at me as if she thought me insane, which she probably did.

"Of course they will. I'll tell everyone I'll meet…"

"And what exactly are you planning to tell them?" I wanted to know pleasantly. "That you watched Christine and the Opera Ghost kiss? In a corridor, where anyone could stumble over them? Twice? No one would believe that story, even if you were not drunk. They'd think you had seen a stagehand kiss one of the chorus girls, and your pompous mind turned it into something more spectacular."

Realising that I had indeed found a non-violent solution, just like I had promised, Christine relaxed visibly. She even wrapped an arm around my waist.

"We could do anything we please, and not a single soul would ever believe that excellent gossiping material," she called. "Not a nice feeling, is it?"

The Baroness stared to the floor, not saying a word. At least she seemed to know when she had lost.

"Do you have an idea in which box she sits tonight?" I asked my beloved.

"Box two, I think," she replied, glancing at me curiously. "Why?"

"We'll get her there now," I explained. "I don't want her wandering around alone. Sometimes strange coincidences happen. Maybe she'd find the entrance to the cellars…"

Christine nodded and addressed the Baroness in a friendly voice.

"We'll take you to your box now."

"Very good," the woman murmured. "I do feel a little sleepy…" She turned on her heel and marched off into the right direction. Even in a state of intoxication she seemed to have a good sense of direction.

Christine looked from her to me.

"You don't have to come as well if you don't want to, you know," she told me. "I think I'll get along with her alone."

"I'll go to Box Five anyway," I said. "It would be stupid to walk the whole way to my house with a sleeping child. Philippe can rest a little more in my box, and I'll take him to you later."

My statement was followed by silence as we walked through the corridors, the Baroness in front of us. We didn't meet anyone, so I assumed the interval was over.

"Can I ask you something, Erik?" Christine suddenly wanted to know. A sideways glance told me she had needed quite a bit of time to summon enough courage to ask this question, or rather, the one that would follow.

"Of course you can," I encouraged her.

"Wouldn't the Baroness have been intimidated enough by your words?" she muttered. "Why did we have to kiss a second time in order to make her untrustworthy?"

"Well… that was because… I…I wanted…" I stammered.

"I understand," she told me with a smile, placing a hand on my upper arm. "I liked it, too. But do you think we could… talk about it some day?"

"Whenever you want, my Angel," I muttered, enjoying the feeling of the old name on my tongue. It was the first time I had used it in ten years.

A few minutes later we reached a spot where the corridor divided into two. Silently we agreed that she would take the woman to her box, whereas I'd go straight to Box Five with Philippe. I seized Christine's hand and pressed a soft kiss to it.

"We'll see each other later," I whispered. Then I left quickly, before the urge to kiss entirely different places of her could overwhelm me.


	59. Chapter FiftyNine

**Author's note: **Thanks for all the nice reviews! I especially have to thank Queen of the Clarinets for reminding me that last Sunday this story turned half a year old. Isn't that nice? Oh, and I have to warn you that in this chapter there are quite a few POV changes. So keep your eyes open!

**Chapter Fifty-Nine**

**September 14th 1892:** _Christine_

I made my way to the right box with the security of a sleepwalker. The Baroness was already gone, having found the entrance to Box Two right away. She had left without a word, almost as if she didn't dare talk to me. Under normal circumstances that would have been rather pleasant, especially given the things she had said before, yet I hardly noticed it. In fact, I probably wouldn't even have heard it if she had insulted me in the worst way possible. I felt as if I was trapped in a world of my own. I couldn't get out, and other couldn't get in.

This impression grew stronger as I entered the box and took my seat, without thinking about what I was doing.

"It's good that you're back," Raoul whispered, kissing my cheek softly. I barely felt the touch of his lips. "The third act has just started. You didn't miss anything important."

I nodded automatically, glancing over at Antoinette and Jacqueline and giving them a slight smile. They were too busy looking at the stage to return it. So I did the same.

Yet if I had hoped this would make me return to the state of mind I had been in before leaving the box, I had been wrong. The last times I had been to the opera, years ago, I had been able to relate to the characters on stage, to feel their happiness, pain and grief. But today not even the most heart-rending arias touched me, and that was not only because the opera wasn't the most exciting of its kind. I simply wasn't interested in what was happening.

At least it wasn't as dark in the auditorium as it had been before, probably due to the fact that the managers wanted to avoid a panic if the Opera Ghost tried another one of his tricks. Yet even the people in the audience, usually a nice distraction from a boring opera, didn't fascinate me the way they had used to. I watched a group of girls giggling, an elderly lady eating chocolates out of a large box and a couple exchanging hasty kisses. It was this image that made me look up. My eyes met Erik's.

_Erik_

I made my way to Box Five as quickly as possible. Although Philippe was by no means heavy for his age or height, my arms had grown a little tired in the last minutes, probably because I had held him for such a long time before. I was glad that I could lay him down on two chairs I had hastily pushed together with my foot. When my hands were free again, I adjusted the chairs a little, making them comfortable to sleep on.

Having made sure that my boy was fine, I swung my slightly aching arms back and forth to regain the usual feeling in them. After a few moments I stopped, afraid someone in the audience could look up and spot the Opera Ghost doing such undignified things. That wouldn't have been good for my reputation. So I sat down in the seat I always had, next to the slumbering child.

Some minutes later I found myself fervently wishing I could fall asleep as well. The songs sounded even duller and less inspired than they had done during the rehearsals. Why were those people singing about love of the lack thereof? Did they even know what it meant to love so deeply that it made the heart ache and the soul hum? They knew nothing, just like the people surrounding me. The only other person who could understand such feelings was… Christine. I glanced over at her box just in time to meet her eye.

_Christine_

I smiled at him, suddenly not feeling as isolated as before. It was as if a second person had entered that strange new world of mine, a person who could understand me, even if no one else could. Had those kisses we had shared somehow managed to establish a bond between us? Or had they merely made the bond that had been there ten years ago visible for us again? I didn't know the answer, but still I liked the feeling.

He returned the smile tentatively. Yet when he realised that my smile hadn't only been meant to acknowledge his presence, but to express my joy about him being there, his smile widened as well. It lit up his whole face, making him look almost… handsome. The thought surprised me, but it also made me excited. The realisation that Philippe wasn't the only one who could make Erik smile like that gave me a strange sense of satisfaction.

Briefly I glanced down at the still kissing couple, then I looked away again, embarrassed about my curiosity. What was that fascinating about those people? It took me a moment to understand it: They were doing what I'd have liked to do as well, yet not with my husband, but with Erik. I blushed, my embarrassment growing by the second. What was wrong with me, thinking about kissing my former teacher while Raoul was sitting next to me?

_Erik_

Maybe Christine thought I hadn't noticed what she had been looking at, but of course I had. Her gaze had been drawn to the audience, and since I didn't assume an elderly woman eating chocolates or a man snoring gently made her cheeks flush that lovely shade of red, there weren't many possibilities left. Actually, there was just one: a man and a woman of about Christine's age who demonstrated in a rather impressive way that their love was still much fresher than that of the people on stage.

I watched them for a minute or two, watched their lips meet again and again, their hands hold each other tightly and their legs brushing against each other much too often for it to be a coincidence. I waited for the usual feeling of jealousy, yet surprisingly it didn't come. I didn't wish I were in the man's place. Why should I? Not even an hour ago I had kissed the most wonderful woman in the world. It was so much better than anything those people in the audience could do.

As if that thought had been a signal, I glanced over at Christine again. I jerked my head in the direction of the couple and gave her a slight smirk, just enough to indicate that I knew what she had looked at. She blushed even more deeply and bit her lip. Apparently she was embarrassed about me catching her having indecent thoughts. Of course I couldn't be sure she indeed had such thoughts, but I hoped she had. In fact, I even hoped she was having them about her and me. Yet again, I couldn't be sure.

_Christine_

Erik's gaze lingered on my face, making my cheeks burn. If only Raoul didn't notice anything! Yet he even seemed oblivious to the fact that I had bitten my lip. Obviously he actually enjoyed the opera, which was probably more than could be said about most people in the audience. Perhaps he was of the opinion that he supported my new musical ambitions by paying attention, or he had truly discovered his love for shallow plots. Whatever it was, I was grateful for it. It saved me a lot of awkward questions.

Sometimes I seriously wondered whether Erik could read my mind. His smirk showed very clearly that he knew I had imagined kissing him. It was quite embarrassing, yet also… comforting. That man sensed what I was feeling. It was more than what my husband did, at least at the moment. Raoul didn't even realise I was looking at another man all the time.

Once more, the image of two worlds came to my mind: Erik and I had one to ourselves, and no one else was allowed to enter it. Only a moment later did I notice that I had used the phrase ´Erik and I´ in my head, as if we were a unit. And I didn't even feel like correcting it. It sounded right. I smiled at the man in Box Five again.

For a few moments we were content merely looking at each other, letting our thoughts flow freely. It was a fantastic feeling, like having a soul mate. Yet it didn't last. Erik broke the eye contact to glance at his side, where, as I could see a second later, Philippe was slowly coming into a sitting position. The boy rubbed his eyes sleepily, and Erik put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

It was then that I realised something: I could think about kissing him, but I also had to bear in mind that it could never happen again. Seeing my son had reminded me of the important fact that I had a family, a husband. Suppressing a sigh I leaned my head against Raoul's shoulder. He gave me a gentle smile and a kiss on the top of my head. It felt nice.

_Erik_

If somebody had told me yesterday that once I wouldn't be pleased about Philippe's presence, that person's life would have probably ended with the help of the Punjab Lasso. But now it was indeed like that. If the boy hadn't woken up, the moment between Christine and me wouldn't have been over that abruptly. As much as I loved him… couldn't be have slept just a little longer?

They way she had looked at me still made me shiver pleasantly. There had been so much tenderness and compassion in her gaze, so much… did I dare call it love? It had been as if no one but the two of us existed. I had been aware of the power of my voice, yet the fact that a gaze could be that special filled me with a new sense of understanding. It was fascinating, not only for the scientist in me.

I watched Christine move closer to her husband, realising that the old feeling of jealousy was back. During the second act it had been enough to look at her, but now I longed for more. Yet I had to face the truth, which she apparently had accepted more readily than I: Those few moments of bliss had been all I could have from her. Maybe I'd finally manage to deal with it.


	60. Chapter Sixty

**Chapter Sixty**

**September 14th 1892: **_Raoul_

If there was one thing to be said about the applause at the end of the performance, it would be that it wasn't very enthusiastic. In fact, some people only clapped their hands two or three times before jumping up from their seats and joining the steadily growing crowd moving to the doors. It was clear that all they wanted was finding out whether the entrance doors were indeed open now and leaving as quickly as possible.

In my opinion that was quite rude. All those people on stage deserved their praise, especially on a first night. I could see that some of the chorus girls appeared to be close to tears because of the lack of approval, and I imagined Christine standing among them, the expression on her face just as sad as theirs. Yet unfortunately I couldn't do anything but applaud harder myself and encourage the people in my box to so the same.

But there was a certain person who could do more. Just as the first people reached the doors leading out of the auditorium, they slammed shut, the sounds echoing from the walls. Naturally everyone looked at Box Five at once. It seemed that apart from us the Opera Ghost and Philippe were the only ones still sitting on their seats. While the boy appeared rather surprised, the Phantom looked angry.

"Do you really think your behaviour is appropriate for the opera?" he called. "You're very bad examples for my little heir. Do you want him to learn that it's good to leave as soon as the performance is over, without applauding properly? This is a first night, and everyone did… more or less well. Look at them! They deserve your applause."

Actually the singers and dancers on stage seemed to be frightened of the Opera Ghost rather than disappointed about the lack of enthusiasm from the audience now. Gradually the expressions on their faces changed as they understood that for once he was on their side. It occurred to me that apparently he was of the opinion that he could treat them as badly as he pleased, yet nobody else was allowed to do the same.

The people standing in front of the doors and between the rows of seats exchanged anxious and helpless glances. Some of them were shrugging. Obviously they didn't know what to do. But I did. I started clapping. Others joined in, and after just a minute the auditorium was filled with applause. Now the people on stage were beaming, bowing and curtseying and enjoying themselves.

Above all the noise I noticed the Phantom staring at me in bewilderment. He seemed completely confused about me supporting him. It was my turn to shrug. For once I shared his opinion. Yet frankly I doubted it would ever happen again. So he better shouldn't get used to it.

After a while the applause subsided. Apparently it had been enough for the Ghost's taste, for the doors opened again. This time, people were running out of the auditorium even more quickly than they had tried to before. The sight of a man making his way through the crowd with a massive amount of using his elbows and a couple of women yelling at each other for not getting out of the way made one forget this was a first night at the opera. It more resembled the market place on a Saturday morning… or so I had been told.

I exchanged a few brief glances of understanding with my wife and the maid, and we all nodded, silently agreeing to stay here till most people had left. This unfriendliness, sometimes close to open hostility, was nothing we felt like exposing ourselves to, especially not with Antoinette being with us. Her first evening at the opera shouldn't have such an unpleasant end.

"I think we can go now," Christine remarked a few minutes later, leaning forwards and peering over the balustrade.

"What about Philippe?" I wanted to know as I pulled out her handbag from under the chair and gave it to her. "Will he be brought to us or do we have to fetch him?"

"I guess they're already on their way," she replied, pointing at Box Five. It was indeed empty. I hadn't noticed when they had left their seats. But then, I hadn't paid attention to it. Watching the people in the auditorium had been much more interesting. It reminded me of the games Christine and I had played when going to the opera years ago, guessing what people's thoughts or professions were.

I had just turned around to ask my wife whether she still remembered those things as well when there was a knock at the door. Obviously she had been right with her assumption that the Phantom would take our son here. As if we had practiced it before, all of us stood up to welcome Philippe. I was strangely excited about seeing him again. Despite the wonderful time I had had with Christine, I had missed him.

Narelle opened the door, and two people entered the box, a tall one and a small one. Apart from that fact, they were almost identical in their black clothes with cloaks and fedoras. Seen from such a short distance, their similarities were rather eerie. I could hardly wait for us to come home, so that I could put Philippe back into his normal clothing. It had been all right as a game, but now it was enough.

"Maman! Papa!" the boy called, running over to us. His mother took him into his arms at once, which left me to merely pat his head.

"Welcome back," I muttered.

After a few moments we let go of our son, and our daughter immediately seized the chance to push herself in the centre of attention. She hated feeling left out. Taking her brother by the arm she started hurling questions at him right away.

"So, what did you do all those days? Did you have to study a lot? What did you learn? Wasn't it boring to be with your teacher all the time?"

Philippe threw her an incredulous glance.

"Boring?" he repeated. "But no! Uncle Erik showed me so many interesting places here. He says I know more about the opera now than the stagehands will find out in all their lives. And he taught me a lot of things. He showed me what to put into the dancers' powder, so that their faces would become blue in the right light. And he…"

Our boy went on and on, his sister hanging on his every word. It was amazing. I was used to Antoinette being very talkative, yet Philippe usually wasn't like that, particularly in her presence. Too often he was living in her shadow. But today it was different. It wouldn't have surprised me if our daughter's eyes had turned green with envy. She'd have loved to be in his place.

"If he keeps talking like that, you'll soon have a second pupil," my wife addressed the Phantom, who had watched the scene with a stony expression on his face, or rather, the part of his face we could see.

Christine's voice had sounded deliberately cheerful, probably to improve his mood a little. Yet it didn't work. When she had opened her mouth, he had looked almost hopeful for a moment. But as she had only uttered a casual comment, he had grown serious again. It was clear that he had expected something entirely different, although I had no idea what.

He forced his lips into a thin smile.

"I think one pupil is enough for me," he said. "Your daughter is a lovely girl, but two children asking as many questions as Philippe would simply be too much."

Christine nodded, whereas I didn't do anything except watching the two of them. It was far more revealing than joining their superficial conversation, which now dealt with the progress our son had made in reading and writing.

There were strange new dynamics between my wife and that man. It wasn't in what they said, but in what they did not say. Combined with the meaningful glances they exchanged every now and then, those unspoken words made me very uneasy. Something had happened between them, and I didn't know what it could be. Of course my mind produced more than enough images, one more detailed and dreadful than the other. Yet I tried not to let myself be influenced by them.

Without one of them telling me, I couldn't find out what had happened, but I could at least determine the time. Maybe it would help me cope with my imagination to know whether they had had five minutes or an hour. Christine and I had been together since the time we had come back from our holiday. We had also been together during the opera, except… except for the second interval, when she had gone to the bathroom. At least I had assumed she had gone to the bathroom. Actually she had never said so. Could it be that they had met? There was but one way of being sure.

Of course I couldn't ask my wife now, with everyone listening. So I waited. I waited during their conversation and as we left the box. I didn't pay attention to the surely very touching farewell scene between our son and his teacher, for I was too keen on it to be over. I waited as we sat in the coach and rode home. I waited till I had bid goodnight to our children and Jacqueline and had persuaded Christine to take a drink with me in the living room before going to bed.

It was only then that I finally let out the feelings that had threatened to suffocate me all the time.

"Christine," I started, trying to suppress the trembling in my voice. "I know something happened between you and… and _him_ in the second interval. I want you to tell me what it was."

With a certain satisfaction I watched the colour drain from her face.


	61. Chapter SixtyOne

**Chapter Sixty-One**

**September 14th 1892: **_Christine_

"What did you just say?" I whispered, clinging to the hope that maybe I had not understood him correctly. It couldn't be. It was impossible that he knew about the kisses. Erik and I hadn't spoken a word about them during our conversation, so there was no way in which Raoul could have found out that we had even met, was there?

My husband rolled his eyes, a very untypical thing for him to do.

"Christine, please…" he said in a low voice. "I'm not stupid. I know something has happened between the Phantom and you. Even our children would have noticed the glances you kept throwing each other if they hadn't been too busy talking. And I know it must have taken place in the second interval, for that was the only time when I wasn't with you. All you have to tell me is what happened. Or would you rather have me start guessing?"

At least I knew now why Raoul hadn't taken part in the discussion about Philippe's progress. He had been absorbed in his observations. In the face of such logical conclusions I broke out in a sweat. Frankly I hadn't even thought about whether to tell him about the kisses. There just hadn't been enough time to sit down and ponder about that question yet. But if I had had a choice, I'd have certainly not told him right now, without as much as a minute for preparation. Yet I didn't have a choice.

I took a deep breath.

"Well, I saw Erik leave Box Five with Philippe during the second interval and decided to follow them," I started slowly, assuming that the earlier in my tale I began, the later I'd come to the delicate part. "You know, I remembered what you and I had talked about when returning to our box before, about me taking singing lessons again, and I wanted to tell him before he'd overhear it somewhere else." I thought it best to leave out the fact that he had already known it by the time I had tried to tell him. It would have only made Raoul upset.

"So you met him and talked to him," my husband stated, and I nodded. "But that can't have been all, or you wouldn't behave the way you do. So… what else happened?"

I sighed. The difficult part had come more quickly than I had assumed. For a moment I considered using euphemistic words to make the truth sound better, but dismissed the idea as I realised such words didn't exist.

"We kissed," I murmured simply.

I wasn't sure which kind of reaction I had expected from him, possibly running out of the room and slamming the door shut behind him or shouting at me and asking how I could have done that to him. Yet he only sat there in his armchair, the gaze out of his beautiful eyes so sad that it made my heart ache in compassion.

"Again?" he breathed, his bottom lips trembling ever so slightly.

"Pardon?" I gave back. Now I truly didn't understand what he was referring to.

"You told me you had kissed him before," he explained. "I… tried not to think… about it, but now… I have to. What is it that makes you do it again and again?" He was talking slowly, as if every word caused him terrible pain. It was reflected on his face, which had turned a pale grey. It hurt me to see him like that and to know it was all my fault. He at least deserved an honest reply. If only I had known what to say!

I shook my head, as if to clear it of unwanted thoughts, only leaving behind the ones I'd need for the explanation.

"I'm not certain," I told him after a few seconds' hesitation. "In those moments when it happens… it's as if kissing him were the only thing important. I forget everything else and just… do it." Stopping myself I looked at him anxiously. I had no idea whether this had been the right answer, but it was the best I could come up with now.

"And you can rule out that he influences you in one way or the other?" Raoul asked. Now he was the one clutching at straws, which only made me feel more miserable than before, for I knew I couldn't give him the reply he longed to hear.

"I wish it were that easy," I muttered. "But it isn't. The first two times Erik and I came that close to each other I could blame circumstances, yes. The last time, however… there was nothing like that. I kissed him because I wanted to. I'm sorry," I added, aware that this was the most inappropriate utterance I could have made.

Raoul took a gulp of wine, then stared into the half-empty glass as if the solution to our problems could be found there. He swallowed once, twice. Whatever it was he wanted to tell me, it was nothing he could get over his lips easily. I braced myself for the worst.

"What does it feel like to kiss him?" he finally asked in a hoarse whisper.

Quickly I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep myself from bursting into hysterical laughter, a reaction to all the tension. This was exactly what Meg had asked me after I had kissed Raoul for the first time. Hearing it repeated by him was very strange. He looked at me, and the hurt expression on his face made me regret my outburst at once.

"I'm sorry," I said again. Perhaps it was a little more appropriate this time. "It's just… Why are you asking that? What do you want me to reply?"

"I don't know!" he all but shouted, making me jump. Instinctively I turned my head away from him to protect myself in case he'd go on yelling. Yet just like always, it only took him a moment to pull himself together again. Then he started talking in a normal voice. Facing him again I noticed a feverish gleam in his eyes.

"I just want to understand you," he said. "I want to know what it is that makes him this appealing to you. Is it your mutual past? But we have that as well, don't we? Or is it something about him?"

He grabbed my hand and pulled it towards him so forcefully that it almost felt as if he wanted to rip off my arm. Yet he merely held my finger in his. I could only guess that the physical contact gave him the strength to go on.

"Is he a better kisser than me? Is it that? Does he so something I don't? Please, Christine, you have to tell me, so that I can adapt. I'm sure I could change if I knew how you liked it better…"

By now his voice had turned into a soft pleading. He glanced at me like a boy who had misbehaved and was willing to do everything to make things right again. Seeing him humiliate himself like that brought tears to my eyes. He was begging me to tell him how Erik kissed me, so that he could do it the same way…

"I don't want you to change," I whispered. "All that has nothing to do with you. I… I've never even compared Erik and you when it comes to kissing." It was true, yet I doubted he'd regard it as a good reply. So I wasn't surprised when he shook his head.

"Of course it has something to do with me," he contradicted me tiredly. "But let's not talk about that now. Just answer one more question: Would you like it to happen again? Would you like to kiss him again?"

I only thought about it for a moment. I had gone too far with being honest to start lying now.

"Yes," I muttered.

He let go of my hand immediately, his gaze growing distant.

"But that doesn't mean I'll do it," I added hastily. "Please, Raoul! You have to trust me. If you want to, you… you could come with me every time I'll meet Erik. So you could make sure nothing happens between us." It wasn't an offer easy for me to make. Yet if it gave Raoul new trust in me, I'd be willing to do it.

"That wouldn't make me trust you any more than I already do," he said. "No, I have another idea. But I have to think about it for a little while. Go and look whether the children are asleep."

Though it was far from an order, there was something in his voice that made me obey without a comment. I stood up from my chair and left the room, closing the door behind me.

When I arrived upstairs I passed my daughter's room first. The door was ajar, so that I could see it was dark inside. It was something one always had to check with her. She loved reading in her books far longer than it was healthy for a child of her age. Yet today there was no danger of her doing that. Surely she was dreaming about the opera. Smiling to myself I continued my way.

It was dark in Philippe's room as well. I threw a glance inside, just to see whether he wasn't having a nightmare. The light from the candlestick I had brought with me illuminated his small form. He was lying in bed, slumbering peacefully. I felt like going to him, stroking his dishevelled hair and kissing his tiny nose, but I pulled myself together, afraid he could wake up. With a content nod I acknowledged the slightly open door to Marielle's former room. Jacqueline was sleeping there now in some nights because Philippe needed someone at his side more often than Antoinette.

As good as it was to know the children were fast asleep, it had only managed to distract me for about five minutes. Walking down the stairs I vaguely wondered if I should go to the kitchen and wait a little there, yet I was too nervous to do so. How could I sit patiently between pots and pans while Raoul made a decision about our future? No, I had to return to the living room.

For some reason I knocked before entering.

"You can come in," my husband called.

Opening the door I saw him sitting in the same armchair as before. But that was about the only thing that was as before. The expression on his face had changed completely. He had put on a mask of indifference to hide his true feelings.

"I have found a solution," he told me as soon as I had closed the door behind me. His voice was just as cold as his face. "But you have to promise that you'll do whatever I ask you to."

"Only if it doesn't involve sending me away," I whispered, seized by a terrible suspicion.

He shook his head, a short gesture that didn't give me any hint about what his solution might be.

"All right. I promise," I said hesitantly. "So what is it?"

Raoul smiled, but it was a smile without the tiniest bit of warmth in it.

"I want you to make love to the Phantom."


	62. Chapter SixtyTwo

**Author's note:** I cannot stress often enough how much I love reading all those nice reviews I get. They really encourage me to type faster. It's touching to see how concerned you are about Raoul's mental well-being. I promise his reasons will become clear in this chapter. Oh, and the next chapter could take one or two days longer than usual. I'll be having concerts all weekend. But I won't let you wait too long.

**Chapter Sixty-Two**

**September 14th 1892: **_Raoul_

This time no sense of satisfaction was involved in watching Christine gasp in shock. I forced myself not to feel anything as she staggered to the armchair she had vacated just a few minutes ago and sank down on the soft plush, clutching the armrests as if they were the only things that kept her from falling. Her gaze was darting over my face, probably searching for anything that would make her understand me. ´Well,´ I thought with a cynicism completely unfamiliar to me. ´At least she knows now what that feels like.´

For a little while I waited for her to start asking about my reasons, but she seemed to be too confused to utter questions. So I had to do it myself.

"You're wondering why I want you to do that, aren't you?" I said matter-of-factly.

She nodded weakly.

"It's the only solution I could think of," I replied. "You feel attracted to that man, and the feeling is mutual. If it hadn't been for me, you'd have made love a long time ago."

Christine still seemed too stunned to speak. As her silence was slowly starting to get on my nerves, I poured her a little wine, removed one of her hands from the armrest and thrust the glass into it. Maybe alcohol would loosen her tongue a bit. It had the desired effect. After a minute or two and a few sips of wine she cleared her throat.

"That may be true," she admitted. "But it's… irrelevant. If you had married Meg instead of me, you'd have surely made love to her by now as well."

If circumstances had been different, I might have fallen for her attempt to distract me. Yet today I would have none of that. I wouldn't allow her to lead the conversation away from the topic I had chosen. For once, I'd stay in complete control of the situation.

"That comparison is ridiculous," I said coldly. "Your friend Meg and I never felt anything for each other, whereas everyone at the opera who's old enough can tell dozens of stories about the Phantom's love for you and the way you returned his feelings."

"But I chose you!" she called. I couldn't help noticing that she no longer denied the existence of her love for him. At least that was a step into the right direction. "I chose you twice. The last time only happened a few days ago. You can't have already forgotten that…"

She glanced at me, the silent plea to remember clear in her eyes. I looked away, pretending to check whether there was still wine in my glass. Too often I had grown weak at the sight of her beautiful eyes.

I shook my head.

"I'm no longer sure it was really me you chose," I told her. "Wasn't it security you wanted? Wasn't it fear that made you pick the young aristocrat instead of the murderer? And I'm not talking about your fear of poverty," I added, lifting my hand in a pacifying gesture as she opened her mouth to contradict. I wouldn't make it that easy for her to find arguments against me. "I know it was never money you were after. You wanted a normal life, without the constant fear of being caught by the authorities."

She merely looked at me, the expression on her face urging me on to continue. Apparently she was determined not to say anything before I had spread out of whole argumentation for her to see. Well, that was fine with me.

"I'm even more certain about the second time," I went on. "Only very recently I realised how stupid it was to ask you to make a decision at that point. You'd have never decided against your marriage and your children. Of course this makes your decision entirely meaningless."

I gave her a tired smile, thinking about how important all that had been to me just a few days ago.

"It's good to know how much you care about my opinion," she muttered bitterly.

"I don't doubt that in this situation you thought you were doing the right thing," I said calmly. "All I want you to see is how heavily influenced by the circumstances it was."

"_Every_ decision is influenced by the circumstances," she stressed. There was a certain sparkle in her eyes that hadn't been there before. Now she seemed determined to fight. "Would you have liked it better if I had made a decision without thinking about the consequences?"

I nodded.

"I wanted the decision to be about him, me and you. And it is exactly such a decision that I'll get now. Actually it was you who gave me the idea in the first place."

"Me?" she repeated incredulously. "But… but I never mentioned anything about making love to – "

"You said that when you kiss him, you stop thinking about your surroundings," I interrupted her. "And that's what I want."

"But for what reason?" she asked, looking even more confused than before.

"I want to know what you feel for him – without you considering what this could mean for the children or for the two of us." For a fleeting moment I let my guard down and covered her hand with mine. "You know, I'm afraid that we could have married too soon," I told her with a little more warmth in my voice. "Maybe you only enjoy kissing the Phantom so much because you're curious what it would be like with another man. Well, I give you the chance to find out. And if it's not just curiosity…" I had to clear my throat before I could go on: "…then I can at least be sure.".

"Raoul… you're my husband," Christine whispered. "When I stood in front of the priest with you, I knew it meant I'd never… do such things with another man, and I agreed to that condition. If I made love to Erik now, wouldn't it be like breaking my vow?"

"Not in my eyes," I replied. "There's no need to drag moral into this discussion. No one except the Phantom and us will ever know what happened. So you don't have to worry." I was aware that this sentence was the most stupid I had uttered so far.

"But Raoul… what would it mean for us?" she asked.

"I have no idea," I answered gravely. "But I cannot go on like this, pretending not to notice the way you look at him, spending all the time you're not at home imagining what you might be doing with him. That's not a life I want to lead."

"But Raoul…" she repeated in an urgent whisper. "What if I do make love to him and come back afterwards? What would you think of me then?"

Hastily I stood up and walked to the other end of the room. It was so large that Christine would only be able to see the outline of my body and nothing more in the light of the candelabras. Of course that was exactly my intention. I didn't want her to see how her question affected me. I had sworn not to show any trace of emotion. Otherwise I wouldn't stand all this.

"That is none of your concern," I replied.

"And there is no… other solution?" she asked in a small voice. Hadn't she understood that by now? Yet at least she didn't come over to me. She seemed to have noticed the wall I had built around myself. "Couldn't I simply tell you how much I love you?"

"I'm afraid we're past the stage in which words can have a big effect," I said with a shrug. "And now go to him."

"Tonight?" she muttered weakly. "You want me to do it tonight?"

"Why not?" I wanted to know coldly. "It's not even midnight. I'm sure Gabriel is still in the stable. He'll take you to the opera, and you can be back in the morning. If you're not back by… let's say, nine o'clock, I'll know you've discovered that your feelings for him are more than curiosity." I was talking quickly, enumerating all those things in a flat voice, forbidding myself to think about my words.

Now she did take a few steps in my direction, but stopped as I turned around, facing the window.

"I don't want to go…" she muttered.

"You promised to do whatever I asked you to," I reminded her.

"And you guaranteed you wouldn't send me away," she argued.

"I don't send you away," I said in barely more than a whisper. "Sometimes I feel as if your heart had walked out of this door a long time ago."

Silence fell, as heavy as thick fog, suffocating us. At last Christine spoke.

"If you really want me to, I'll go," she whispered. "But I don't know whether I'll make love to him. That's nothing I can promise. What I do promise is that I'll be back by nine. You can take my word for it." After a few moments the faint sound of the door snapping shut told me that she had gone.

It was as if that had been a signal for me. All the time I had managed to pull myself together, to envelop me with a layer of indifference. But now I couldn't go on. My heart felt as if it was being squeezed together by a vice, and my mind was flooded with pictures of my wife and the Phantom, happily united. In an attempt to free myself from those images I slammed my head against the windowpane.

The resulting pain and dizziness were just what I needed. I slumped into a heap on the floor, my hands covering my face. All the cruel words I had said rose in my throat like bile, and finally, finally I allowed myself to cry. Maybe I had done the right thing. Maybe Christine would return in the morning as if nothing had happened and stay with me. But that tiny little shred of hope didn't make me feel better. Not at all.


	63. Chapter SixtyThree

**Author's note:** I'm happy to tell you that we've reached review no. 300. Isn't that great? I certainly have the most wonderful readers of all.

**Chapter Sixty-Three**

**September 14th 1892: **_Christine_

Raoul had sent me away. The sentence repeated itself over and over in my head while I wandered through the house. I heard it as I opened the wardrobe in the bedroom, taking out a few clothes and putting them into a small suitcase. I heard it as I fetched a bar of soap, a comb and some other articles from the bathroom. I heard it as I grabbed my handbag and a coat from the coat rack.

While a part of my mind was busy with hearing that one sentence, another part worked automatically. It stated that I needed a few clothes, so that I wouldn't have to wear my elegant evening dress in the morning and attract the attention of curious neighbours. I also needed things to wash myself with, a coat because it surely was cold by now and my handbag because it contained my purse. Maybe a bit of money would make it easier to persuade Gabriel to take me to the opera in the middle of the night.

I was ridiculously grateful that those parts of my mind were occupied. As long as they had something to do, I didn't have to wonder why I was doing all that, why I didn't simply refuse to go. My feet carried me out of the house and to the stable, where I could indeed still see light. So the coachman had not gone home yet. I found him at the far end of the building, grooming one of the horses. Its chestnut body was shining in the candlelight.

"Gabriel?" I called, approaching him. The horse snorted nervously at the sound of my voice and the sudden movement. "Why are you still here?"

"Oh, it's you, Madame," he said, walking around the animal, but staying close to it. "When we arrived here after the opera, I noticed that Ètoile was restless and suspected her state could develop into a colic. So I stayed in the stable to watch her." His voice sounded a little defiant, as if he had to justify himself. But of course I wasn't angry at him. On the contrary: I was glad that he took care of the horses.

Standing on tiptoe I peered into the box.

"Is everything all right with her now?" I asked.

Gabriel nodded.

"She's fine. Maybe it's only the hot weather that made her feel bad. It affects animals just like humans. I thought a little grooming could help her. Sometimes horses need to be spoilt as well…" He winked at me, then he seemed to remember who he was talking to. "I'm sorry, Madame," he muttered quickly, bowing his head. "I didn't mean to sound disrespectful."

"You don't have to worry about that," I assured him. I certainly preferred such a behaviour to Jacques' icy politeness. "The reason why I've come here is to ask you a favour. I know it's very late, but I need to get to the opera." Noticing the incredulous glance he threw me I went on hastily: "I forgot my handbag there… my other handbag, that is, and there's something very important in it. So would it be possible to take me to the opera again?".

"Of course," he replied readily. If he was annoyed by my request, he didn't show it. "I'm finished here anyway, and Ètoile has behaved normally for the last half an hour. I'm free to go."

"Thank you," I breathed.

I used the time Gabriel needed to prepare the black gelding in the box next to Ètoile's to wander around in the stable. By now, every single horse had its head over the door of its box and was craning its neck to see what was going on this late at night. Smiling about those curious creatures I patted a few of them as I walked by. How simple life as a horse had to be! All that mattered to them at the moment was whether apart from my caresses I also had some carrots for them.

Finally I sat down on a bale of straw next to the door, watching the horses rather than stroking them. I had nothing to feed them with and didn't want to disappoint them. It was more than enough that I seemed to disappoint most people close to me. Erik and Raoul both thought I didn't love them enough or not in the right way. And I? I probably was the person most disappointed by me. At the age of twenty-eight my life should have moved along the same old track. I had a husband, children, a big house, yes, even servants. I should have been content. Instead, I longed for something I couldn't even name.

Could Erik really be the solution for my problems? Raoul seemed to think so, or he wouldn't have sent me to him. But then, it was difficult to understand my husband these days. I couldn't even tell whether he truly was of the opinion that making love to my former teacher would improve our situation. Perhaps he was only worried about my well-being and thought Erik could give me something I missed.

"Madame? The coach is ready." Hearing Gabriel's voice all of a sudden almost made me fall off the bale of straw. Apparently I had been so lost in thought that I hadn't even noticed him leading the horse out of the stable to the coach. Hastily I stood up, grabbed my suitcase and the handbag and walked after him, extinguishing the light on my way out. One or two horses neighed softly. It sounded like a farewell.

The journey to the opera didn't take long since the streets were nearly empty. Occasionally we passed another coach, the occupants of which were possibly returning from a late dinner after a performance at the theatre or something similar. Raoul and I had done that every now and then, coming home tired, but happy, often sinking into our bed to do what he expected me to do with Erik now. I shook my head. The whole story hadn't become any clearer since the last time I had thought about it. On the contrary: It seemed to get more complicated by the second.

When we arrived at the large building, Gabriel jumped up from the coachbox and opened the door of the coach for me.

"Would you like me to come in with you or wait outside?" he asked, reaching over to hand me my suitcase while I climbed out of the coach.

"Oh… no, no, you can leave," I said quickly. "But of course you don't have to walk home in the middle of the night. Why don't you take the coach back to the house and sleep in one of the guestrooms?"

"That is a very generous offer, Madame," he told me. "But how will you get home then? It's much more dangerous for a woman to be out in the street at night than for a man. I understand that the search for your handbag could take some time, with you having to find someone to open all the doors first and things like that. But I don't mind."

I felt little beads of sweat forming on my forehead. My mind was so full of the conversation I had had with Raoul that it was hard to come up with an explanation.

"My… erm, my business here will take till morning," I finally replied, giving up on finding an excuse. "It'll be easy to get a coach then."

"Oh, I see," he gave back, a knowing smile spreading across his handsome features. "And I guess your husband better shouldn't know about it. I won't tell anyone."

"My husband already knows about it," I called over my shoulder as I went to the Rue Scribe entrance.

The door wasn't locked, which surprised me a little. Did Erik still leave it open day and night, even though he had to know I wouldn't come back? But then, here I was, grateful that I didn't have to try the main entrance, praying someone had left it open. I entered the building quickly, then stood at the other side of the door for a few moments, listening hard. There was no sound. If the singers and dancers celebrated their first night, they obviously didn't do it here. I couldn't blame them. After all that had happened they had probably been just as keen on getting away as the audience. Erik and I had the building to ourselves.

Holding my suitcase and handbag in one hand and a lantern I had taken with me from the coach in the other one I made my way downwards. Of course it was possible that he was in a different part of the opera, but I could as well start with the most likely option. If he wasn't home, I could wait there till he came back.

He was there. Even though there was no light, I knew it was soon as I pushed open the entrance door. I could hear a faint sound coming from the room that should have been mine. I approached it as quietly as possible and peered inside. At first I hardly saw anything, for apart from the glow of my lantern, it was completely dark. I could only make out a figure lying on the bed. A moment later I also recognised the sounds: Erik was lying on his stomach, crying into the pillows.

The sight would have been enough to make anyone's heart melt. I let my belongings fall to the floor unceremoniously, slipped out of my coat and the shoes and was at his side moments later. As I didn't want to tower over him, I lay down next to him, placing a hand on his back. He didn't seem to have noticed me until now, but the physical contact made him jump and roll onto his side, ready to defend himself against whichever attacker might be there. His eyes widened in surprise as he realised who his visitor was.

"Christine?" he whispered. "Is it really you?"

"Of course it's really me," I gave back with a smile. "Look, you can touch me." I took his hand and brought it to my hair. His fingers were trembling as he stroked it. I used the time he needed to take in the information that I was truly here to utter a question.

"Why were you crying?"

"I don't know…" he muttered. "You were gone… and my boy was gone… and I felt…"

"Lonely?" I finished his sentence. "But I'm back now. So you can be happy again."

He gave me an ironic little smirk, indicating that he rarely was happy.

"Why are you here?" he then asked. "Has something happened to you? Or to Philippe? Do you need my help?" During the last words his voice had got a worried undertone, and I had to seize his hand again to keep him from getting up.

"No, no," I assured him. "We're all fine. I've come here to… to…" It occurred to me that I had no idea what to tell him. So I simply kissed his lips briefly.

"You came here to kiss me?" Erik breathed. "That's very nice of you, but it's hardly worth the journey."

"It's not just the kissing," I contradicted him. Taking a deep breath I placed his hand on my cleavage. "We can do anything we want."


	64. Chapter SixtyFour

**Chapter Sixty-Four**

**September 14th – 15th 1892: **_Erik_

I pulled my hand back at her words, but it wasn't fast enough. For one moment my bare fingertips had touched her velvety soft skin at a spot that I didn't even dare look at under normal circumstances, and as far as I was concerned, that had already been too much. In combination with the kiss we had shared, that one moment confused all my senses. And given the fact that this beautiful woman was lying next to me on the bed, it gave my instinct the chance to say what it wanted.

It was very hard to fight the sensations that were racing through my body. I had to use all my willpower to get out a normal sentence instead of the muddle that was inside my head.

"Christine… why do you want that all of a sudden? I mean… the last subject you and I talked about was that Philippe doesn't have to come to me until this afternoon, so that he can catch up on a little sleep… and now you're here and want to…" I didn't finish my sentence, suddenly anxious that I might have misunderstood her. What if she hadn't meant making love at all and I'd make a fool of myself by saying it aloud?

"…make love to you, yes," she whispered, as if she had read my mind. If one didn't look too closely at her flushed cheeks, one could have though she didn't have a problem with saying it. The mere words made a shiver run down my spine. So I had understood it correctly.

"Why?" I repeated. "What made you change your mind? Did you have… you know, one or two glasses of wine too much?" I sniffed, but couldn't smell more than hint of alcohol in her breath.

"I'm not drunk," she replied indignantly.

I gave her an apologetic smile.

"What is it then?" I persisted. "You can't just come in, pounce on me like a wild cat and expect me to agree with it."

"I didn't ´pounce on´ you," she corrected me. "I only lay down next to you and kissed you because you were crying. I wanted to comfort you." She brought her lips to mine again, and at once I forgot what I had planned to say – an effect that had doubtlessly been intended.

For a moment I lost myself in the kiss, but then reason pushed itself to the front of my mind again. Pulling back my head I argued:

"I'm afraid that doesn't make any sense. Just a minute ago you told me you had come here with the intention to make love to me. But at that time you couldn't have known you'd find me crying.".

Christine muttered a swearword under her breath, then she pleaded:

"Can't we just do it?". She seized my hands and placed them on her chest. It was the most pathetic attempt of a seduction I had ever experienced, which of course didn't mean a lot in my case.

I sat up and gestured at her to do the same. If we needed to do anything, it was getting a little space between us. She complied reluctantly.

"I won't do as much as touch you before you tell me the truth about what is going on," I said, underlining my statement by folding my arms in front of my chest. If I held them like this, she wouldn't be able to snatch them again and put them on some part of her body.

"I don't know what to tell you," she admitted in a small voice. "You won't understand…"

"I understand very much," I assured her in a more gentle voice. "Why don't you start from the beginning? What has happened since you left the opera?"

Christine leaned against the headboard, her legs crossed at the ankles. Fortunately the skirt was long enough to hide anything that could have been a temptation for me. She seemed to need a few moments to find the right words, then she began.

"Raoul knows that we kissed. He noticed something in our behaviour – the way we look at each other, he said."

I couldn't help being just a little impressed. Apparently the Vicomte was not as ignorant as I had thought. But that positive feeling quickly gave way to a suspicion.

"How did he react?" I asked. "He didn't… beat you, did he?" I leaned forwards to examine her face, yet I couldn't see any telltale signs. Of course that didn't mean anything. He could have hit her on places other than her face.

"No, he didn't do that," she replied. "He was calm… very calm."

"He refused to talk about it?" I wanted to know. From experience I was aware of the fact that a certain kind of silence was just as bad as insults.

She gave me an ironic little smile.

"Oh, we did talk about it," she answered. "It was… weird…"

"Weird?" I muttered, suppressing the urge to seize her by the shoulders and shake her till the complete reply fell out of her mouth. Her way of stopping after every other sentence was slightly irritating. Yet since I didn't want to intimidate her, I merely said:

"You can tell me anything. You know I'm quite the expert on weird things.".

"Raoul wasn't angry," Christine murmured, looking down at her hands. It sounded as if that fact surprised her as much as it surprised me. "He asked what kissing you felt like and whether there was something he could change about himself, so that I'd enjoy kissing him just as much as I enjoy kissing you…" Realising what she had admitted she bit her lip.

"Is that true?" I wanted to know. "Do you enjoy kissing me more than him?" I couldn't tear my gaze away from her perfect white teeth nibbling at her full bottom lip, wishing it were me doing that.

She shrugged.

"I don't know," she said. "I never compared the two of you." That wasn't exactly a flattering answer, but at least it obviously was the truth. A lie would have sounded nicer.

"But why does your husband think it then?" I asked.

"He knows it wasn't the first time that we kissed," she whispered. "He thinks it's the only explanation why I keep doing it. He said that maybe we married too soon and I miss something only you can give me."

I remained silent as I took in her words. The Vicomte's apparent jealousy made me almost a little proud. There he was in his big mansion, blessed with beauty, youth and wealth, and still he thought I had something he hadn't, a special talent I used to make Christine come to me. The problem was that none such thing existed in me. The only talent I could think of was my voice, and I clearly didn't use it to improve my kissing techniques. That wouldn't even have been possible.

"What do you think about it?" I asked cautiously, seizing her hand and holding it in mine. "What makes you return to me again and again?"

"It's as if there was a… a bond between us that… pulls me back to you…" she replied hesitantly, now glancing down at both of our hands.

"Could that bond possibly be called… love?" I whispered hoarsely, hardly daring to utter such a question.

She gave a deep sigh.

"The longer I think about it, the more certain I get that I don't even know what love feels like," she breathed. "When I'm with Raoul, I think I love him. And when I'm with you, I think I love you. But that can't be right, can it? I can't love two men at the same time…"

I did not reply, for I had barely heard her last sentences. My mind was still clinging to what she had said before. It had only been a short utterance, a fleeting moment, and yet… it was closer to a declaration of love than I'd ever get. I couldn't just let this moment pass. I had to store it away in my head, so that I'd remember it forever.

"Erik?" Christine squeezed my hand lightly. "What do you say to all that?"

"The topic of love isn't something I know too much about," I replied, pulling myself out of the land of my imagination forcefully. There was no time for dreaming now. "The only person I've ever loved in the way you're talking about is you. However, I don't think it's possible to love two people with exactly the same intensity. If it was, monogamy would have ceased to exist a long time ago."

My last remark should have been a joke, but she didn't even smile. On the contrary: She seemed to be close to tears.

"Why do I feel something others don't? Am I insane? Perverse?" she muttered. Placing my other hand under her chin I made her lift her head, so that she had to look at me.

"You are none of those things," I told her firmly. "You just don't want to disappoint either of us. That's why you pretend to love both of us equally."

"What a nice way of expressing it," she said, squeezing my hand again. I smiled at her. Maybe everything would be all right between us after a good conversation. For a few moments we sat there, listening to the grandfather clock in the living room announcing that it was midnight.

"But how do you suggest I should find out whom I love?" Christine then wanted to know. "Do you also want me to make love to you, just like Raoul?"

I inhaled sharply as all the positive feelings I had had before vanished.

"He… told you to make love to me?" I repeated incredulously, fighting back the lump in my throat. "That's the only reason why you're here?


	65. Chapter SixtyFive

**Chapter Sixty-Five**

**September 15th 1892: **_Erik_

Christine gaped at me, swallowing hard, as if there were something blocking her throat. Yet before she could recover enough to speak, I had already gone on.

"What about our kisses?" I hissed. "Did they also only happen because your husband wanted it? Was that the reason why you came after me in the interval? Did he accompany you, hiding somewhere, so that he could watch us? Is he also here now? Or will you merely have to give him a detailed report in the morning?"

I didn't know where all those questions came from. They simply poured out of my mouth like a waterfall. I saw how much they affected her, and yet I didn't stop. If I could get rid of a tenth of the pain that was cutting into my body like a hot knife, it was worth the price of hurting her feelings. For once, I didn't care about her.

And what was she doing? She only sat there, letting me hurl the questions at her without saying a word. Not once did she try to contradict me or defend herself. The only thing about her that was moving was the steady trickle of tears running down her cheeks. She didn't even make an attempt to wipe them off, preferring to let me see what I was doing to her.

In the end it was indeed the image of the weeping woman on my bed that made me come to my senses again. I looked down at our hands, which miraculously still were interlaced. Now guilt had taken its place in the group of negative emotions in my stomach. No matter what I felt, I had had no right to be unfriendly to her. I prided myself with not being like the rest of the human race, and now I had acted exactly like any other man. It was truly embarrassing.

But before I could apologise, she used the chance to speak at last.

"Erik, I'm so sorry!" she whispered. "What a terrible woman I must be if you think about me like that! Is this the impression other people have of me? Then it's no wonder that the Baroness assumed I was having an affair with you. Oh God…"

By now, the tears were streaming down her face like small rivers. Rummaging in my pocket with my free hand I pulled out a handkerchief and wanted to give it to her, but she pushed it away.

"You shouldn't do anything for me," she muttered bitterly. "If that's what you think of me, you should throw me out of your house before I send a message to Raoul to come and watch me seduce you."

"I don't think you're terrible," I corrected her gently. "Nor do I think any of those things I've just said about you. I was so hurt by your words that I had to do something to hurt you as well. I'm the one who has to apologise." I made a second approach, and at last she allowed me to dab at her eyes with the handkerchief.

"No, it's all my fault," she murmured. "I should have told you right away why I had come to you."

I gave her a lopsided smile.

"And what would you have said?" I asked. "´Good evening, Erik! It is nice to see you. My husband wants us to make love, so that we can find out whether there's a difference between him and you. That's not a problem with you, is it?´ ´Of course not, Christine. Do you have a particular position in mind or can I just do it the way I want?´"

I was surprised that I could make jokes about such serious a situation, but it felt strangely liberating. Even she was smiling.

"So you really don't think me to be a bad person?" she wanted to know. She looked at me in a way that made it impossible for me not to take her into my arms. Cradling her head against my shoulder I replied:

"I think you're a kind, warm-hearted person who only deserves the best. I just don't understand why that is supposed to be me.".

"I hardly understand it myself," she whispered, her breath hot even through the fabric of my shirt. "I can just explain it like Raoul did." She straightened up a little, so that she could look into my eyes. "He said that maybe my… well, my fascination with kissing you was nothing but curiosity because… because I had never been with any man but him. And if I made love to you, that curiosity would be satisfied. Unless, of course, it was more than curiosity…" She stopped for a moment, her gaze growing distant. Then she continued: "Anyway, he has given me the time till nine in the morning to find out.".

I watched her, waiting whether more was to come, but it seemed to be the entire story.

"Are you sure that your husband wasn't drunk while suggesting that?" I wanted to know, only half joking. "If you were my wife, I wouldn't dream of letting you make love to other men." I didn't add that this was one of the moments in which I seriously wondered whether the lack of air due to my Punjab Lasso hadn't caused permanent damage in the Vicomte's mind.

"I think he's just desperate," she answered. "He can't understand why I could feel attracted to you. Well, he doesn't know you."

"I guess he knows me more than enough for his taste," I interjected. "But that's not the point. It doesn't matter what his opinion about the subject is. This is about us – you and me and nobody else. So… what do you want, Christine?"

She withdrew from me slightly, and for a moment I was afraid my question had been all wrong, or rather I was afraid her reply could consist of her walking away. But then I realised she had only done it to make eye contact again.

"I wish this was just about you and me," she told me in a small voice. "But it isn't. When I come back in the morning, Raoul will want to know what happened, and I… I swore myself never to lie again."

"That's a very good resolution," I commented. I couldn't help thinking that most people who were caught lying didn't swear never to do it again, but only to do it better in the future, so that they wouldn't get caught a second time. Christine really was something special. "I could come with you, as your witness," I offered. "I wouldn't mind lying to your husband. You just have to tell me what you'd like me to say."

"Thank you, but that wouldn't be a solution," she muttered. "Whatever I do, I have to live with it."

"And what will you do?" I asked.

She shrugged.

"I don't know," she whispered, sounding very helpless. For a moment we were silent. I stroked her back softly. The gesture seemed to have an encouraging effect on her, for she started speaking again.

"What about you? You said yourself that this was about you and me, but all we've talked about so far is me. Would you… would you like to make love to you?"

I hadn't been prepared for such a direct question. Quickly I glanced to the side, hoping she wouldn't notice that I had blushed.

"Well, I… I've never really thought about it…" I murmured.

I heard her give a slight chuckle.

"Oh Erik, you cannot seriously expect me to believe that!" she exclaimed. "You love me for more than a decade, you count the days of my marriage, you watch my husband and me in the… in every situation, and still you've never thought about doing it with me? Forgive me for saying so, but that's ridiculous."

My cheeks flushed even more. I couldn't remember the last time I had been in such an embarrassing situation. Even the scene with the Baroness had been a pleasant encounter compared to it. I felt like running away and hiding, at least till I could come up with a good response. But at the same time I knew I had to pull myself together. What kind of example was I for Christine, who always wanted to tell the truth from now on? An honest answer was the least I could give her.

So I forced myself to look at her again.

"Maybe I do think about it every now and then," I admitted, frantically trying not to think about it at the moment. "And maybe I would like to make love to you now." I took a few deep breaths to distract myself from the feeling of her body pressing against mine, afraid my longing could manifest itself in a physical form. "But it's not my wish that matters here," I hastened to go on. "I'm not the one who will have to return to her husband tomorrow. I'm free to do whatever I please. It's just like you said it: You'll have to live with the decision, and no matter what you do or not do, you could end up regretting it."

"But Erik…" she whispered. "This could be your only chance to ever do it with me. Don't you want it to happen, just to get an idea of what it feels like?"

"There are a million things I'd like to do with you, Christine," I told her simply. "Making love is only one of them. So unless you want to do every single thing on the list in my head – and mind you, it could take the rest of your life – I'll always miss something. I don't want your decision to depend on me."

She looked at me for a moment, then smiled.

"But wouldn't it be better to have done one of those things than none of them?" she asked.


	66. Chapter SixtySix

**Chapter Sixty-Six**

**September 15th 1892: **_Christine_

"I suppose you're right about that," Erik muttered, yet I could sense the hidden objection in his voice.

"But?" I prompted.

"No ´but´," he said a little too hastily. "Not yet…"

I shook my head slowly, more than just slightly confused. When I had come here, I'd have never believed I'd have to persuade him to make love to me. I had been sure he'd be happy. Wasn't it bad enough that I didn't understand Raoul anymore? Why did Erik have to act strangely as well?

Of course I could understand his arguments. It had to be very hard for him to think about all those things he'd like to do with me, knowing his wishes would never come true. Yet now that I had given him the chance to fulfil one of his dreams, I couldn't comprehend why he agreed that reluctantly.

Tightening my embrace I whispered:

"Don't you remember the conversation we once had about understudies?". I didn't know why a discussion we had had more than ten years ago suddenly came to my mind again. Maybe it had something to do with being here in his home. Erik nodded slightly, throwing me a questioning glance. "I told you that I couldn't see why some people volunteered to become understudies, for they were hardly ever needed anyway," I reminded him. "And you said that even if they only performed a single scene instead of the regular singer, the feeling it gave them was worth the effort of learning all the lines and motions on stage. Of course you were right."

"So you want me to be the Vicomte's understudy then?" he asked with a wry smile.

"One could put it like that, yes," I replied. "You'll only have one performance, but the feeling will be worth it."

Regarding the silence that followed my statement as approval I started kissing him. At first he was completely passive, and I already suspected I had misinterpreted his behaviour. Yet after a few moments he began to return the kiss hesitantly, as if he couldn't believe his luck.

I wanted to take things slowly, to give him a few moments to get used to the thought that this time we wouldn't stop, but I couldn't keep the promise I had given myself. The feeling of his lips on mine was too good not to try and get more of it. Before long I deepened the kiss, while our hands wandered over our bodies, touching every part we could reach.

My desire to feel more of him soon overwhelmed me. As I brought my hands to his back and pushed them under his shirt, they encountered a pleasant coldness, which was a nice contrast to my flushed skin. He shivered under my touch.

"Sh… it's all right," I whispered, breaking the kiss for seconds before pressing my lips against his again. My hands roamed over his back, up to his shoulders and to the front. Fortunately his shirt was hanging loosely around his thin upper body. Otherwise I wouldn't have been able to move them this freely.

It took me a while to realise that he was merely holding me. Unlike mine, his arms were motionless.

"What's the matter with you?" I asked, throwing him a glance full of concern. "Would you like me to show you what to do?" Taking my hands out from under his shirt I used them to lead his hands to the top of my dress, which was closed with a number of small buttons. "You can open them," I offered.

"No!" he muttered, pulling back his arms and wrapping them around his own body.

"But why not?" I wanted to know. When he still hadn't replied after a few moments, I thought about the answer myself. "Are you worried about disappointing me? I'm sure I'll like whatever you'll do..."

"It's not that," he murmured. He gave a deep sigh. "Oh Christine! I love you so much, but I can't do this with you. I am frightened, yes. I'm frightened that if we make love, I won't be able to let you go afterwards. I'll want to keep you with me, to have all of you – forever. And I know I can't have that."

"I'm sorry," I whispered, putting as much compassion as I could into those few words.

"You don't have to be sorry," he told me, glancing at me seriously. "After more than ten years without you it's about time that I get used to it." He tried a smile, but failed miserably. The tears in his eyes gave away what he was truly feeling. Although the sadness in my heart probably only was a fraction of what was going on inside him, it was enough to make me feel as if I'd burst into tears any moment myself.

Erik didn't deserve all that pain. But if he didn't want to take what little happiness I could offer him, what was I to do? After all, I couldn't force him to make love to me. I had to accept his refusal, even though the rejection was another load my heart had to carry. Inwardly I scolded myself not to be that selfish. This wasn't about me at the moment, but about him.

"Is there anything I could do to make you feel better?" I asked softly. Maybe a cup of hot tea or something similar could help him. After ten years he had surely developed certain methods of fighting sadness. For a fleeting moment I saw a sparkle of hope in his eyes.

"Could you stay here for the rest of the night?" he whispered. "I don't want to be alone."

"Of course," I replied readily. I didn't mention that I hadn't thought about leaving anyway. It was past midnight, and the chances of finding a coach were slim. Besides, I didn't want to come home, wake up Raoul and tell him that I hadn't done what he had asked me to. Such revelations could wait till morning.

Erik smiled at me, looking a little less sad than before.

"And where would you like me to sleep?" I wanted to know. "I suppose this is Philippe's bed now, so I could take the sofa in the living room, couldn't I?"

"No," he said, seizing my hand. "I want you to sleep here… with me… I mean, I… I've always dreamed about you falling asleep in my arms." It would have taken a much stronger person than myself to resist the pleading glance that followed his request. Moreover, I didn't want to resist. The idea of falling asleep in his arms was nice.

"I would like that very much," I told him. In my opinion it was an ideal solution, for it meant that I could do something for Erik without being unfaithful to my husband. It was as if the load on my heart had grown considerably lighter. For the first time in hours I dared relax a little. Almost instantly I realised how tired I was. Suppressing a yawn I asked:

"Can we go to bed right now?".

He nodded, smiling.

Reluctantly he let go of my hand, came to his feet and went to the door.

"I'll be back in a minute," he said, leaving the room.

I stood up as well and walked to my suitcase. Yet opening it I noticed something far from good: I had packed a new dress, stockings, undergarments, even another pair of shoes… but no nightdress. It seemed to have slipped my mind that I'd need to wear something between the lovemaking, which wouldn't take place now, and the morning.

My groan of frustration alerted Erik. He returned to the room, just closing the last button on his long black nightshirt.

"I forgot to bring a nightdress," I explained before he could ask. "But it's not that tragic. I guess I can leave on my dress."

"That won't be necessary," he gave back with a peculiar smile. "Just open the wardrobe."

Curiously I did what he had told me… and froze. Every single one of my dresses, skirts and blouses was hanging there neatly. I didn't dare open the drawers, but suspected they contained my undergarments.

"Erik… what is this?" I asked faintly.

"For every piece of clothing you bought from your seamstress or in a shop I got one made for storing it away here," he replied without hesitation. He didn't seem to be proud of it, yet not overly embarrassed either. "It made me feel closer to you."

"Oh," I made, not sure how to react. The obsessive part of his character wasn't something I enjoyed thinking about. "And… what do you do with all those clothes?"

"Nothing," he answered a little indignantly. "Well, almost nothing. Occasionally I need one of them. Do you remember that light blue dress with the white dots?"

I nodded. "Antoinette smeared mud all over it when she came home one day last autumn. But the next morning it was clean again. I was so pleased that Jacqueline had managed to get the stains outs." He merely smiled and jerked his head in the direction of the wardrobe. Then comprehension dawned on me. "You made her replace it."

"It was one of your favourite dresses at that time," he muttered, as if that explained everything.

This example of his thoughtfulness made me forget the uneasiness I had felt at first. Surely he only meant well. Quickly I choose a nightdress.

"Can I take this one?" I wanted to know.

"Basically they're your clothes," he answered. "I'm just keeping them for you. So you can take anything you like."

Giving him a grateful smile I vanished into the bathroom.

When I came back a few minutes later, he was already lying in bed. I extinguished the light and joined him under the blanket. Hesitantly he wrapped his arms around me. He apparently wasn't certain how far he could go. I snuggled up to him closely, enjoying the unfamiliar feeling of lying next to him, separated by nothing but a few thin layers of clothing. Vaguely I wondered how he'd have reacted if I had repeated my request to make love to me, yet I didn't try it. That topic was finished.

"Good night, Erik," I muttered.

"Good night, Christine," he gave back, pressing his lips to my forehead in an almost chaste kiss. I still felt the soft touch of his body as I drifted off to sleep.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………...

The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes again was the slightly unnerving absence of light. It was impossible to tell whether I had slept for hours or minutes, yet given my sleepiness the latter was more likely. In vain I tried to make out the numbers on the clock standing on the mantelpiece. Erik seemed to have felt the motion of my body, for he woke up as well.

"Is anything wrong?" he asked in a concerned whisper.

"Do you know how late it is?" I wanted to know.

He straightened up a little and peered at the clock. Thanks to his excellent eyes he could tell me the answer at once.

"It's half past nine," he muttered sleepily.


	67. Chapter SixtySeven

**Chapter Sixty-Seven**

**September 15th 1892: **_Raoul_

I couldn't remember when I had first thought about dragging myself out of the living room. Had it been one hour after Christine had left, two hours or maybe five? I didn't know it and I didn't care. All I knew was that it was still night; it was all that mattered to me. As long as it was night, she wouldn't come back. So I had to wait.

Slowly I dared leave my crouching position and stretched out my legs, fighting back a scream of pain as cramps shot through them like bullets. Sitting with my knees bent and my arms wrapped around them had hindered the circulation. My neck and back were aching as well, and there were red marks on my fingers from the moments in which the pain had been so intense that I had bitten myself to keep me from crying out. My body felt like a single raw wound.

I needed all my strength to force myself into a standing position. Black and white dots were dancing in front of my eyes, and I had to lean against the wall behind me, afraid of landing on the floor again. I was panting from the effort. Still I knew I had to go on. I couldn't stay here in the living room. Some of the servants got up very early, and one of them always went through all rooms except the bedrooms and opened the windows to let in fresh air. I didn't want anyone to see me like that.

Wasn't it peculiar that I was still thinking about other people's opinion of me, when there should have been much more important things on my mind? Actually it wasn't peculiar, not at all. At the moment my head was perfectly content with thinking about nothing but moving my feet, one after the other. Inch by inch they carried me up the stairs and into… which room?

No, not our bedroom! I stopped dead on the threshold. The last thing I wanted was lying in bed and staring at Christine's part of it, at the empty pillow, the empty space on the mattress, under a blanket that was much too big for one person. That would have been pointless torture for my already damaged soul. I'd rather go to one of the guestrooms.

Yet arriving at the first one I heard loud snoring. Utterly confused by those strange sounds I opened the door a little and threw a glance inside. Our coachman was lying in the bed. It took me a few moments to understand how that was possible. Surely Christine had told him to sleep there, since she hadn't wanted him to walk home at night. She had such a soft heart. I closed the door as quietly as I could and continued my search for a place to stay, feeling more and more like a stray dog in my own house.

Fortunately the next guestroom I checked was empty. I took off my clothes and lay down on the bed. Yet although I closed my eyes and rolled into my favourite sleeping position, I couldn't calm down enough to actually fall asleep. The problem was not something simple, like the blanket being too thick or the mattress being too hard. The bed was perfect, but it didn't… feel right. There was no warm body pressing against mine from behind, no hot breath tickling my skin and no occasional kisses on my neck. There was no Christine.

Pictures formed themselves in front of my closed eyes. They were worse than the last time, and I didn't even have a wall to slam my head against. It was as if my whole imagination was working for the sole purpose of creating the most terrible nightmare scenarios. I saw my wife and the Phantom kissing passionately. Greedily he ripped off her clothes, feasting his eyes on the sight of her naked body. Then he was naked as well and lay on top of her. The pictures became a blur of colours and motion, ended by a frantic cry of the Phantom's name. ´Oh, this felt so good,´ Christine whispered. ´It was better than anything I've ever experienced.´

I opened my eyes, yet my vision was still blurred. I was crying. Impatiently I wiped the tears away with a corner of the blanket. But even after they were gone, the empty feeling in my chest remained. It was as if by leaving, Christine had taken my heart with her and was trampling around on it now. I could practically feel ever kick she gave it by making love to another man.

With a sigh I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling without seeing a thing. Had it been wrong to make her go? It was a sign of my luck – or rather, the lack thereof – that this question, which had been bound to come up sooner or later, chose exactly this moment to attack me. I was too weak to defend myself. What would I do if she liked being with the Phantom so much that she'd stay with him? I couldn't bear the thought of losing her. Christine was my life, my… my everything.

And what would happen to our children? This new and frightening question made me even more anxious. She couldn't take them away from me as well, could she? I'd never let them go. But then, children belonged to their mother, that was what everyone said. According to popular belief the father wasn't very important. I was seized by a wave of guilt as I thought about how often I had been away from home. And now that I finally had the time to become a part of my children's lives, that chance would be taken from me?

No! I wouldn't allow it. Neither Christine nor Antoinette and Philippe would leave me. My wife simply had to come back to me. Why should she want to stay with the Phantom? He could offer her nothing but a life in darkness and… and love. If only I hadn't seen his eyes! Before I had done so, it had been easy to tell myself that he just felt lust for her. Yet the glances he had thrown her during their conversation about our son had been filled with love. And I didn't know whether she returned those feelings.

If my wife didn't come back to me, it would be my own fault, that much was certain. There had to be something I had done wrong. Maybe I hadn't been home often enough. Maybe I hadn't shown her how much I loved her. The worst thing about it was that I couldn't change it anymore. I'd have liked to tell her so many things, but she wasn't here to hear them.

Giving yet another sigh I kicked the blanket to the foot of the bed and sat up, realising that I wouldn't sleep anyway. In this dark and empty room I'd only remain the prey of my thoughts. So I could as well get up and try to distract myself. I stoop up, put on the clothes I had taken off not even half an hour ago and left, thinking that this had probably been the shortest stay anyone had ever had in one of our guestrooms.

Walking along the corridor I pondered on where to go now. Usually I didn't have problems with sleeping, so I had little experience in the subject of what to do at night. Besides, I had to be very quiet, so that I wouldn't wake up the children. The idea to go to the kitchen and fetch something to drink was dismissed quickly; it would have made too much noise. Instead, I tiptoed past their rooms and went into my study.

Once I had reached the large and comfortable room I pulled a book out of the crammed set of shelves and settled down in a chair facing the window. Naturally it was still dark outside, but I didn't want to miss the morning when it came. So I sat there, reading and throwing a glance out of the window every now and then. The book, a thick volume on legal statutes which had already been part of my father's library, was the most boring I had ever come across. After maybe an hour I found myself staring into space rather than reading most of the time.

Knowing it couldn't go on like that I came to my feet, fetching another book. The corner in which the shelves stood was so dark that I could only make out the title as I sat down again. With a groan I realised it was one of Christine's romance novels. That would certainly not help getting my mind off the subject of love. But then, I didn't want to stand up a second time. And maybe my wife would appreciate it that I showed interest in what she liked.

To my surprise the book turned out to be more fascinating that I had thought. It had at least one huge advantage: The man trying to lure the heroine away from her husband was portrayed very negatively. If Christine read such books often, she had to know that in the end husband and wife would be united again, and maybe she'd take it as an example for her own life.

I read and read while the night gradually gave way to the day. After a few hours I was finished. Now there was nothing left for me to do but wait. Slowly the house woke up. I heard doors open and close, but didn't feel the wish to go and join the liveliness. Remembering my pocket watch at last I took it out and placed it on my leg, so that I could constantly check the time. It was five o'clock. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier as I watched the hands move, and before I could do anything against it, I fell asleep.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………...

"M. le Comte?" A hand touched my shoulder hesitantly. Looking up I saw Jacqueline glance down at me in concern. "Here you are, Monsieur. I'm sorry to wake you up. It's just… neither your wife nor you were in your bedroom when the children came looking for you, and of course they want to know where you are. Has Madame already gone out? Do you know when she'll be back?"

Instead of giving an immediate reply I gazed at the watch, which told me what I had already suspected: It was past nine.

"She'll never come back," I declared gravely.


	68. Chapter SixtyEight

**Chapter Sixty-Eight**

**September 15th 1892: **_Raoul_

"Never?" Jacqueline repeated, her usually omnipresent smile fading. "What do you mean? Did you have an argument and she ran away?"

"Yes… no… not really," I stammered. I had no idea what to tell her, whether to tell her anything. I didn't even know what to think myself, so what should I say to another person? "Actually that's none of your concern," I muttered weakly, hoping against hope that I'd feel better if I didn't talk about it.

The maid straightened up again.

"You're right, Monsieur," she said, her compassionate voice growing a little colder. "It's none of my concern what your wife and you do. But it becomes my concern as soon as it's about Antoinette and Philippe as well. At the moment I have two worried and frightened children sitting in the kitchen with the cook, and of course they want to know why neither their Maman nor their Papa slept in their bed. So if you prefer being silent, I'll go to them now and tell them to wait for you to explain everything. But I refuse to lie for you."

She turned around and marched away. I made up my mind in a split-second. Jumping up from the armchair I caught her by the hand before she could reach the door.

"No, wait!" I exclaimed. "I will tell you. But you have to help me with the children." The thought of seeing Antoinette's and Philippe's faces while I revealed that their Maman would never come back to them was truly frightening.

Yet that was not the only reason why I wanted Jacqueline to stay. Her words had made me realise that I couldn't simply close my eyes and wait for everything to be over soon. Christine wasn't here, and somehow I had to deal with it. The best method seemed to be talking things over with somebody. Never in my life had I envied my wife that much for Meg. Her best friend was always willing to listen to her. But I had no one like that. I'd have rather swallowed my tongue than discussing private matters with my business partners, and I rarely met my sisters, who had married and moved away from Paris years ago. So all who remained were the servants. And now that I had one of them here, I wouldn't let her go.

All those things were on my mind as I led her back to the window and made her sit down in my armchair, whereas I remained standing. Only now did she have the chance to reply. "Of course I'll help you," she said. "But you have to be honest with me. You don't have to give me any details, just a basic outline of what happened."

Suddenly one of my brother's countless pieces of advice appeared on my mind. _Never entrust a servant with something important or private. You'll only end up regretting it._ Impatiently I pushed the words aside. Jacqueline wasn't the kind of person who liked gossip. She was with us for more than nine years, and we had never had reason to complain. Besides, she was a woman. Maybe she'd be able to explain what was going on in Christine's head.

"Well, it's a rather long story, but I'll try to make it short," I began, thinking hard about what I could leave out. It wasn't an easy task, summarising more than ten years in a few sentences for a person who had probably never been exposed to such things before. But then, maybe she had been. After all, I had learned yesterday that her sister was a chorus girl. So she could have mentioned a few things every now and then. "Have you ever heard of my wife's history with the Opera Ghost, the man we've seen with Philippe last night?" I asked her. If I hadn't known better, I could have sworn the question made her blush.

_Jacqueline_

I inhaled sharply. I was aware that his question was perfectly innocuous, and still it made my heart beat more quickly and my cheeks flush – like every remark about _him_, my other master. Would this lead to the conflict I had always dreaded? No, certainly not. All I had to do was stay calm and be careful. Then nothing could happen to me.

"Yes, I have heard about the story," I replied slowly. "One of the older chorus girls told it to my sister, and she told me." That wasn't even a lie. At the beginning, however, I hadn't been able to draw the connection between the man who paid for my sister's training and the murderer who had wreaked havoc at the opera years ago. It had taken me a while to understand how those things depended on each other.

The Comte breathed a sigh of relief. He seemed to be glad that he didn't have to explain everything from the beginning. I couldn't blame him. From what I had heard, he hadn't exactly been the winner in that strange relationship game they had played ten years ago. Maybe I wasn't the best-informed person to judge it, but I doubted there had been a winner at all. Madame's sudden mood swings were legendary even today, her husband appeared to be miserable most of the time, and _he_… well, how happy could a person be who had lost the love of his life and was living all alone beneath an opera house?

"Good," the man standing in front of me said after a few moments, as if to remind himself that he wanted to speak. "In a way you were right: My wife and I had an argument last night. There were certain… signs indicating that she still has feelings for the Phantom, and I… sent her to him, so that she could find out what exactly those feelings are. She promised to be back by nine…" His voice trailed off as he stared out of the window.

His words had clearly contained too much information for me to take in at once. I had to split it up into smaller pieces in order to understand it. At first all I felt was guilt. They had had an argument, and I didn't know about it? That was not good, not good at all. Usually I'd have sneaked down to the living room after making sure the children were sleeping, but this time I had fallen asleep myself. The evening at the opera had been very exhausting. My other master wouldn't be pleased if he found out about it.

But then, if Madame had really gone to him and had stayed there for the night, he'd probably be so happy that he'd forget about my failure. I shook my head in disbelief. How could she have chosen _him_ over her husband? It was true that I hardly knew anything about my other master. Yes, I had heard some gossip, but I wasn't foolish enough not to know that most of it were exaggerations, combined with a few lies and just a little bit of the truth. All I had found out about the man the Comte referred to as ´the Phantom´ was that he was very generous when I did what he wanted and very angry when I didn't.

Still I couldn't believe she'd rather be with him than with the Comte. He was such a gentle man, and he always had a friendly word for me and the other servants. Admittedly he wasn't home very often, yet as far as I knew, that was true for most men in his position. So why should that make her angry?

My analysis ended abruptly when I heard a soft sniffing sound. Looking up I realised that the Comte had started crying. My initial reaction was shock. Being a maid for almost a decade I had seen children cry countless times, but never a grown-up man. It gave me a very strange feeling, as if I was intruding in his privacy without meaning to do so. If I could have made myself vanish from the room in this moment, I'd have done so. Yet standing up would have reminded him of the fact that I was there at all.

So I stayed where I was, pulled out a handkerchief and nudged his hand with it softly. It was only then that he seemed to notice my presence.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, dabbing his eyes awkwardly. "You shouldn't see me like this. It's just… What shall I do if Christine… if she doesn't come back to me?"

"She will come back," I assured him. "It's not even ten o'clock. Perhaps she has problems finding a coach or she simply slept too long –"

"Because she has been in bed with the Phantom all night!" he suddenly exclaimed, his voice breaking. I gave him an incredulous glance. This story was getting more delicate by the second.

"Yes, she has been sleeping too long," he mumbled. "She has to be exhausted, after doing all those things with him. And it's all my fault… my fault. Am I such a terrible person?" he suddenly addressed me. "Am I so bad that my wife has to go and seek comfort in the arms of a madman and murderer?"

It was amazing how much he looked like his son in this moment. Philippe had just the same way of throwing disappointed and hurt glances that made me want to take him into my arms and protect him from all evils in the world.

"No, you're not," I said simply. Following a sudden impulse I stood up and pulled him into an embrace. It only lasted a moment, but it was enough to make us break apart in shock as someone coughed politely.


	69. Chapter SixtyNine

**Chapter Sixty-Nine**

**September 15th 1892: **_Christine_

I felt as if I had been run over by a coach. For the last thirty minutes – ever since I had jumped out of Erik's bed – I had done everything as quickly as possible. I had probably forgotten half a dozen things in his bathroom because I had just thrown all the items that seemed vaguely familiar into the suitcase. Getting dressed, usually a rather lengthy procedure, had only taken a few moments today. Then we had hurried out of the house and along the passageways. I had no idea what Erik had told the driver of the first coach we had found or how much he had paid him, but it was a fact that the journey to my home had taken less than half of the normal time.

And now I entered Raoul's study, for the living room and our bedroom had been empty, only to find him in an embrace with Jacqueline. Could anyone blame me for being stunned? I only watched them for a moment, but it was enough to take in all the details: The maid's back was facing me, so that I had an excellent view on his head resting on her shoulder and his hands holding her gently. It was sickening.

Yet for some reason that I couldn't quite understand myself none of my hurt feelings showed in my behaviour. On the outside, I was perfectly calm. I gave a little cough and watched them break apart hastily.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" I exclaimed in mock embarrassment. "Did I interrupt something? Would you like me to leave again?"

Raoul seemed too surprised to speak, whereas Jacqueline took a few steps forwards and started justifying herself right away.

"It's not what it looks like, Madame. It was just an embrace, nothing more… I wanted to comfort him because he was miserable…"

"It's all right," I assured her. "This won't have any consequences for you. I know who the guilty one is." I threw my husband a cold glance. The maid regarded it as a sign for her to leave.

"I'll look what the children are doing," she called before she closed the door behind her, obviously glad to he out of harm's reach.

I had expected Raoul to be embarrassed, to squirm under my gaze and defend himself. Yet he appeared rather relaxed, as if being caught embracing a servant was nothing that caused him the slightest discomfort.

"Good morning, Christine," he said casually. "Look out of the window! Isn't this a wonderful day?"

"Outside it may be wonderful, but in here it's not," I gave back icily. "Don't you have anything to explain to me?"

"Explain? No, I don't think so," he replied with a shrug.

If it was his goal to make me lose control about myself, it was working: I grew angry.

"You've just embraced Jacqueline," I called. "Who knows what else you'd have done if I hadn't come in? What have you been thinking?"

"Those are funny accusations out of the mouth of a woman who spent last night in another man's bed," he snarled. Involuntarily my hand flew to my mouth. "What's the matter, my dear? Do you have a problem with being shown how strange your morals are? You are allowed to do everything you please, whereas I am to sit at home, waiting for you."

"But you sent me to Erik," I argued. "You asked me to make love to him! When did I ask you to embrace Jacqueline?"

"Well, excuse me for having made a decision of my own!" he said with a ridiculous little bow. "I was under the illusion that you're my wife and not my mistress. I thought you didn't have the right to tell me what to do…"

I didn't trust my ears.

"Oh, and you have that right, just because you're my husband?" I cried. "Or do you want me to call you ´master´ from now on?"

He took a step forwards, and for a moment I was afraid he could hit me. Yet he only smirked.

"_Master_," he repeated with a mocking undertone. "Is that what the Phantom wants you to call _him_? Tell me about your night together! What did you do?"

I couldn't understand where his fury had gone during the last sentences. Why was he friendly all of a sudden? He made it sound as if I had spent a nice afternoon with Meg instead of a night with his archenemy.

His change of mood made me uncertain of how to go on. Originally I had planned to tell him the truth, expecting him to be pleased rather than angry. During the last minutes I had seriously considered making up a story about Erik and me doing the most extraordinary things, just to wipe that superior smile off his face. But now I wasn't sure anymore. Whatever I told him, his reaction was completely unpredictable.

Eventually I settled for the truth. It had the advantage that… well, that it was the truth.

"We only kissed," I replied shortly. "Nothing else happened. He… he didn't want to," I added, feeling the urge to justify myself for not having kept my promise.

"He didn't want to?" Raoul echoed. Then he smacked his forehead lightly, as if suddenly understanding everything. "But of course!" he exclaimed. "I should have known so! You came to him, took off all your clothes and begged him to make love to you – and although he has never done anything like that in his pathetic life, he rejected you because he's much too noble to take you away from your husband, even for a few moments! Do you expect me to believe that?"

I had listened to his monologue in silence, wondering when Raoul had become so bitter. It hurt me to watch him pace the length of the room in agitation. Sometimes he was so close to me that I could have touched him, yet the waves of hostility coming from him made me keep my hands away from his body.

"I don't expect you to believe anything," I stated coldly. "But perhaps I should remind you that love is based on believing what the other one tells you."

He stopped and turned to face me. Sensing that my words had reached him, I quickly continued talking.

"You've been away from home so often, and yet I've never suspected you could use the free time you had on your travels to meet someone else. I always believed you'd never betray me, and I was right, wasn't I?" He nodded emphatically. "And now look at what you do: I told you that nothing happened between Erik and me, and instead of being relieved, you refuse to believe it. Don't you see that something's not right there?" I walked over to him and placed my hands on his shoulders, asking: "Do you still believe in our love, Raoul?".

Again, he surprised me. Without a moment's hesitation he answered:

"Yes, I do. My love for you is the only thing I've never questioned. Never. It gives me strength, no matter how hopeless the situation is. Without that love I'd die.".

His sincerity left me speechless. I didn't know what kind of reply I had expected, but it had certainly not been a declaration of love like that one. However, I resisted the temptation to simply pull him into an embrace and kiss him. That would have been too easy a solution.

Keeping my hands on his shoulders I asked:

"And why did you send me away, even though you love me that much?".

"I sent you away _because _I love you," he stressed. "I was afraid you couldn't be happy with me. I thought that if you went away once and came back, I could be sure that you'd stay forever, that you… loved me."

"I do love you, silly boy," I whispered, leaning forwards and giving him a kiss on the tip of his nose. "But whether you take my word for it is a matter of believing again."

So many things were a matter of believing these days. The longer I gazed into Raoul's eyes, the more complicated those things became. Would he believe me this time? Maybe I should have said more. But then, I didn't want to persuade him. The determination to trust me had to come from the inside, not from the outside. I felt my heart pound in my chest as I waited for the answer.

"So nothing happened between the Phantom and you?" he finally asked. I sighed deeply. Was that discussion starting again? Maybe it was time to get a little help.

"Nothing," I assured him. "And if you don't believe me, you can ask Erik yourself. He's gone to look where the children are."

"You… you brought him here?" Raoul stammered. "Why?"

"I was afraid you wouldn't believe me," I said truthfully.

"And he's with… our children?" he asked, making it sound as if Erik were a man-eating lion. Without waiting for my reply he stormed out of the room. I followed him quickly.

It wasn't difficult to find out where everyone was. My daughter's merry chatting could be heard as soon as we reached the ground floor. It clearly came from the kitchen. Arriving there I could hardly hold back laughter. The children, Erik, the maid and the cook were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea and eating biscuits. It wasn't exactly a life-threatening situation.

"Maman! Papa!" Antoinette and Philippe exclaimed in almost perfect unison, beaming at us.

"Good morning, Madame and Monsieur," the cook said cheerfully. "Philippe's teacher has come to visit us. Such a nice man…" I smiled at her. To her appearances didn't matter in the slightest. As long as people were friendly and liked her cooking, she didn't mind what they looked like.

"Good morning. Can we have two more cups and plates, please?" I then asked. "I haven't had any breakfast, and those biscuits smell delicious. We will drink tea with them, won't we, Raoul?" To my surprise he nodded. Settling down I suppressed a sigh of relief, glad that he hadn't started shouting at Erik in front of the children. Yet I was also aware that once the shock of finding him here like a normal visitor would have worn off, everything was possible.


	70. Chapter Seventy

**Author's note:** Once more I have to thank you for your kind and encouraging words. You have no idea how much more quickly they make me type.

**Chapter Seventy**

**September 15th 1892: **_Christine_

Despite the unusual mixture of participants, most people seemed to enjoy this impromptu tea party. While Larisse, the cook, fetched two plates and cups, positively beaming with delight about more guests, I threw some discreet glances at the other persons sitting around the table and encountered almost nothing but smiling faces. Antoinette was laughing openly. She loved having company and meeting new people. In fact, I often had the impression that she enjoyed it far more than her parents, which would be very useful in society one day.

Philippe's joy about Erik being here wasn't as apparent as his sister's, but I could easily interpret the sparkle in his eyes. He was proud that for once a visitor was a friend of his instead of someone Antoinette had brought with her. Erik had placed a hand on his shoulder, and sometimes the boy looked up at him, as if he had to reassure himself that his teacher was actually here.

Naturally Jacqueline couldn't be as happy as the children. After all, her two ´employers´ were sitting at the same table, and she had to be afraid that Erik or I could make a remark that would reveal that fact. I gave her a reassuring smile and shook my head slightly, telling her without words that she had nothing to fear. Now she seemed relieved.

The only face that was far from friendly belonged to my husband. Raoul appeared about as cheerful as on the social events he despised so much. No, it was worse, for he didn't even try to hide his disgust about being in the same room as Erik. Yet there was little I could do about it. I was glad that the children didn't seem to noticed the resentments of their father towards Philippe's teacher.

The first few minutes after we had sat down passed quickly. Raoul and I got our tea and biscuits, and for a while we were all busy praising the cook's baking skills. Even Erik had taken a few of the biscuits, although he rarely ate at this time of day, at least as far as I recalled. I thought it very friendly that he forced down a little of the food, just to please Larisse.

When the praised died down, it was hard to find a new topic of conversation, with all people so different from each other. Since I was rather anxious that someone could bring up the question why I had only come home in the morning, I cautiously steered the conversation in the direction of the opera, hoping that the cook wouldn't feel left out because she didn't have anything to say about that subject.

Yet to my relief it turned out that Larisse had a cousin working at the opera as a seamstress. She could tell the funniest anecdotes, making even Erik smile. I, however, grew a little suspicious. It was quite a strange coincidence that this woman had such an obvious connection to the opera. I glanced at my former teacher sternly, but he merely shrugged. At the moment he wasn't willing to reveal whether he had something to do with the cook applying for the job here, and I had to accept that.

Unsurprisingly Raoul was the only person who didn't laugh, smile or even say a word. He was stuffing biscuits into his mouth, drowning them with large gulps of tea and looking like a boy who had just been confronted with the fact that there would be no birthday presents for him this year. Any attempt to make him join the conversation failed. It was the only negative aspect about a group of people who got along very well.

_Raoul_

I didn't know how long I'd be able to stand this farce of cheerfulness. Sitting at the same table as that… man was simply terrible. It was good that the children and the two other women were there as well, for their presence kept him from boasting with his night with my wife. It didn't matter whether something had happened between them. Everyone knew that he was a master in the art of lying and would do anything he could to taunt me.

The other persons in the room were just as unhappy about him being there as I was. One just had to look at them to know that. Sure, the cook was smiling about the Phantom's well-chosen words of praise for her biscuits. She was a gullible person, and of course he had understood that right away and was telling her exactly what she wanted to hear.

On the first glance Antoinette seemed to enjoy herself as well. But wasn't she much too cheerful, laughed too loudly and too much? Surely it was her way of coping with fear. After all, the man who had done all those bad things at the opera last night was in this very room and could start with his evil tricks any moment. That had to be frightening for my little girl.

Jacqueline was among the few people who didn't hide their feelings. She was shifting in her chair uncomfortably, throwing anxious glances at the unexpected visitor. Ironically, she also was among those who had nothing to fear from him. On the contrary: If he had known that an embrace between her and me had led to a lot of trouble for Christine and me, he'd have probably bought the maid a present… and asked her to do it again soon. That was a thought I didn't like at all.

The most miserable person apart from myself doubtlessly was Philippe. It wouldn't have been nice for any pupil to drink tea with a teacher, but in his case it was much worse: It had to be especially embarrassing because the teacher he had to present to everyone was a lunatic and murderer, although the others didn't know that. I almost felt the weight of the Phantom's large hand on my boy's shoulder and wanted to slap it away. Unfortunately things were not that easy. I was aware of how quickly the hand could have wandered to the child's throat.

The only ones truly having a fantastic time were the Phantom himself and Christine. They were smiling at each other when they thought no one would notice, but of course I did notice it. They were even laughing together. I hadn't known he could laugh like that. It wasn't the still-too-familiar sound that made one's blood freeze, but a friendly one. I couldn't help shaking my head in disbelief. _Friendly?_

Yet even though most people wanted to have him out of the house, I couldn't just throw him out. He'd have never left out of his own free will, and I knew from experience that I couldn't win a fight against him. The last thing I wanted was for my children to see me dangle from the ceiling while he continued drinking his tea. Drinking his tea? That was the solution. When we had finished our tea, I could ask him to leave without problems. I could only hope his outward politeness included not overstaying his welcome.

So I started eating and drinking as quickly as possible, throwing Larisse a warning glance as she tried to fill my cup again. Looking around I noticed in delight that the tea had vanished from most other cups as well. I barely waited for my wife to take the last sip before I said:

"Well, it was very… erm, nice to have you here, M le Fantome. Thank you for your visit. Jacqueline, would you fetch his cloak, please?".

The maid stood up dutifully, but the Phantom didn't budge.

"Why so fast, Monsieur?" he asked with a self-satisfied smirk. "I don't have anywhere to be until the afternoon, and everyone here seems to enjoy my presence. So why shouldn't I stay for a little while?"

"You could eat lunch with us," the cook offered, smiling at the Phantom as if he suddenly were her favourite visitor . "I'm making duck in red wine sauce. And there'll be chocolate cake for dessert."

"That sounds lovely, Madame," he said, abruptly changing his role into the polite and charming guest again. "But it's not up to me whether I stay." Why did no one else see that this was a contradiction to what he had said a minute ago? All the others were eating out of the palm of his hand.

"Oh yes, you have to stay!" Antoinette exclaimed. "Then you can tell us something about the chorus girls. Where do they learn to dance like that?"

Philippe was smiling in approval, and Christine… yes, she agreed as well.

"Of course you can stay if you'd like to," she told him. Even Jacqueline sat down again.

That was the final straw. Was everyone against me now? Jumping up from the table I shouted:

"Fine! If he stays, then I can as well go! You don't need me anyway!".

Not waiting for a reaction from anyone I ran out of the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind me. I had had enough.


	71. Chapter SeventyOne

**Chapter Seventy-One**

**September 15th 1892: **_Christine_

The sound of the door being shut echoed through my head. For a moment we all stared at the spot from which Raoul had just vanished, then we looked at each other. I could see surprise and confusion on the others' faces.

"But… but I only invited him to lunch," Larisse muttered. "If M. le Comte didn't like the idea, he could have simply said so…"

I couldn't help nodding in agreement. Of course I had a better insight into the situation than the cook, and still I had difficulties in understanding my husband's reaction. Things hadn't been good before, that was true, but they didn't justify such an outburst. Usually he'd have held himself back or asked to talk to me in private instead of shouting and scaring our children.

"What's wrong with Papa?" Antoinette wanted to know in this moment.

"Yes, what's wrong with him?" Philippe asked. "Did we do something that made him upset?"

I listened to their questions without the slightest idea what to tell them. I was too puzzled myself to make up an excuse. But they needed some kind of answer, and if I couldn't give it to them, I had to find someone who could. I threw Erik a pleading glance. Fortunately he reacted right away.

"I believe your father hasn't slept well," he told the children. "And when people don't sleep well, they do strange things and say what they don't mean. It had nothing to do with the two of you." The looked up at him, nodding. It was only logical that Philippe believed his teacher, but it seemed to be just the same for Antoinette. Apparently she liked him. Despite the serious situation I found myself smiling.

"Don't you want to go after him?" It took me a moment to realise Erik had addressed me.

"What? Oh yes…" I muttered, adding: "I'll see what I can do to make your father feel better. Then I'll be back.". I got up from my chair and was on my way to the door when a new question made me turn around.

"Will Papa come back as well?" Philippe wanted to know in a small voice, his hand clutching his teacher's. Seeing him like that made my heart hurt. Of course I was aware that I was the source of his insecurity.

Again, I didn't know what to say. Given the state Raoul had been in it was possible that he didn't want to come back here. Maybe he had even left the house.

"Well…" I mumbled.

"Perhaps your father wanted to lie down a little," Erik assisted me. "But you will definitely see him later."

I made another step in the direction of the door, only to be interrupted a second time.

"Where have you been last night, Maman?" Antoinette asked, the anxiety about her father's disappearance hidden by a layer of curiosity. If circumstances had been different, I'd have called it a good sign.

"Why do you want to know that now?" I muttered, desperate to gain a little more time to get over the shock of hearing such a question.

"Jacqueline told us Papa fell asleep while he was reading a book in the study," the girl replied. "But you were not in the study and not in your bedroom. So where have you been?"

"She was with me," Erik answered. "She helped me with a problem, a… piece of music I was working on. I couldn't get it right without a woman to sing it to me, so I asked her to help me. And since I know your mother is a busy woman, I wanted her to visit my by night." The children seemed to believe his excuse, yet I noticed the maid and the cook exchange glances. I could count myself lucky that neither of them liked gossip.

While my daughter started asking questions about the music Erik wrote, I seized the chance to leave the kitchen, suddenly afraid I could be too late. As important as explaining the situation to the children had been, it had made me lose a lot of time. The thought that Raoul could be wandering around in the streets where I'd never be able to find him made my stomach contract painfully. Yes, he had overreacted, but that only made me more worried about him.

Fortune was smiling upon me. Crossing the corridor I heard a loud noise, like something falling onto a stone floor. Since all our rooms except the kitchen and the bathrooms were equipped with carpets, it made the choice easy. I was lucky with the very first room I tried, the bathroom next to our bedroom. It was locked, so he had to be in it.

"Raoul?" I called softly.

I heard the sound again, followed by a muttered curse. Then the key was turned in the lock. Cautiously I opened the door, inch by inch, uncertain what 'd find inside. The first thing I noticed were the little dark drops on the floor. There was no mistaking the liquid: It was blood. I felt as if all air had left my lungs at the same time. It couldn't be… could it?

Gasping for breath I finally managed to tear my gaze away from the floor and looked up. Raoul was standing in front of the mirror, and he was brandishing his razor.

"No!" I breathed, running over to him. Flinging my arms around him I embraced him tightly. "Raoul, you cannot do this," I whispered urgently. "Please don't!"

He freed himself from me. "What? Am I no longer allowed to shave without asking for your permission?" he asked.

It was only then that I noticed the shaving foam on his face. It almost made me burst into relieved laughter.

"I'm sorry… I just thought… I'm sorry," I stammered, feeling more than just a little stupid for assuming the worst. But then, I had had a reason for believing it. "Where does the blood come from?"

"The razor fell out of my hand twice and cut me," he explained shortly. This brought a frown to my face. Usually Raoul didn't have difficulties with shaving.

Yet when he turned away and continued his task, I could see what his problem was: His hand was shaking so badly that he could barely hold the razor, let alone use it properly. It was a miracle that he only had two cuts and not a dozen.

"Would you like me to help you?" I asked gently. I tried to take the sharp object away from him, but he held onto it stubbornly.

"I don't need your help," he snarled. "Why don't you go back downstairs and entertain your guest?"

"Because I came here to see what you were doing," I replied, unwilling to fall for his attempt to provoke me. "Why are you shaving at all? Do you want to go out?" It only occurred to me now how strange it was that he had left the kitchen at a run, only to stand here and shave, as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

My husband nodded. It was a small motion, yet it was enough to make him cut himself a third time. He cursed again, still not handing me the razor, but continuing more fiercely than ever.

"I'll meet M.Laverne for lunch," he answered. "He has to inform me about what has been going on while we were on holiday. I've sent a message to him just a few minutes ago."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Raoul had promised not to spend that much time working anymore, and here he was, meeting his business partner on the first occasion after we had come back.

"But you said you'd have more time for your family from now on," I reminded him.

It was good that he was finished shaving and only held a washcloth in his hand. Otherwise he'd have surely cut himself again, for he was shaking so much that even the washcloth fell to the floor.

"I would have been there for the children and you," he told me. Even his voice was shaking. "But you prefer someone else's company. So I'll do the only thing I'm good for: earn money. You don't need me."

"Of course we need you," I whispered. I picked up the washcloth and wanted to clean his cuts, but he didn't allow me to come near to his face. Discouraged, I let my hand sink again.

"Then why is _he _here?" Raoul asked. "Why does he sit at the table with you, laugh with you, eat with you? Even the servants like him better than me."

"Could it be possible that you're jealous?" I blurted out before I could think about how to approach the subject a little more sensitively. I braced myself for outright denial or him leaving again, but none of it happened.

"Yes, I am," he admitted frankly. "I don't want him to be part of your life or of the children's lives."

At last he bowed his head, leaning down to let me clean his wounds.

"But he _is_ part of our lives, even of yours," I said. "I can't change that fact, and I don't want to change it either." My words made him wince, yet the contact of the washcloth and his raw skin could also be responsible. Maybe it was a combination of both.

When my work was over, I turned him around to face the mirror. He looked at his reflection for a moment and burst into laughter.

"This is pathetic," he muttered. "I look worse than the first time I ever tried to shave."

Now I couldn't keep myself from giggling either. In fact, I had been present when the attempt had taken place. It had happened in his family's summer home in Brittany when we had been children. Of course Raoul had not had the slightest stubble yet, but he had wanted to do what he had seen his brother do. Unfortunately he hadn't been very skilled with the razor, and the maid who had found us had nearly fainted at the sight of all the blood.

I hadn't even had a minute's time for revelling in nostalgia when my husband suddenly pulled me into an embrace so tight that I felt as if he wanted to break every bone in my body.

"Why can't we still be children, Little Lotte?" he whispered into my hair. "Things were so simple, and now they're so complicated. Why can't we go back?"

"No one can do that," I replied with a sigh. "But there are some things which are better now." I lifted my head to look at him. "We live in our own house, we no longer have to ask for permission for everything… and you're a better kisser."

I had added the last part mainly to lighten his spirits, and it worked. We shared a loving kiss before he let go of me.

"I have to get dressed now, or I'll be late," he told me, walking to the door.

I couldn't move yet, not after such emotional a moment. All I did was ask:

"You will come back, won't you?". He nodded.


	72. Chapter SeventyTwo

**Chapter Seventy-Two**

**September 15th 1892: **_Raoul_

After my conversation with Christine I hadn't felt like going out anymore. I had wanted to stay at home, hold her in my arms and tell her everything that was on my mind: how much I loved the children and her and how worried I was that this could be taken from me. In those few moments in which I had recalled our past I had felt as if I could talk to her about everything, certain she'd understand me. After all, we had been through a lot together.

But of course staying at home had been impossible. I couldn't ask my business partner for a meeting in one minute and decide against it in the next. I knew there were businessmen who treated others like that, yet I had sworn myself never to become one of them. So I had dressed, called a brief goodbye to my children, telling them I'd be back in the afternoon and taken a coach to the restaurant.

And now I was sitting here, paying attention to M.Levarne with a tiny part of my mind, while the bigger part was busy thinking about my wife and the Phantom. Maybe I shouldn't have left her to eat lunch with him. Who knew what could develop from a simple meal… I mentally slapped myself. Where had those overwhelmingly positive feelings gone? Why did they vanish as soon as Christine wasn't close to me anymore?

I knew that in order to make things right in our relationship I had to regain my trust in her, but I didn't know how it was done. Perhaps the first step was believing her nothing had happened at the Phantom's lair last night. I hadn't had time to talk to him anyway. This could be my chance to practice to simply take her word for it. My much too vivid imagination wasn't making that process any easier, though. If only I could stop all those thoughts for a while!

"M. de Chagny? Did you hear what I've just said ?" The way in which M.Levarne raised his voice made it clear that my face had shown I had been miles away from the conversation.

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "I didn't pay attention for a few… moments." Actually ´minutes´ would have been a more accurate term, but I preferred not to tell him for how long exactly I hadn't listened to him. "Could you repeat it, please?"

My business partner smiled and nodded. Something far worse would have to happen before he grew seriously angry. He was a very gentle man.

"I was talking about the Norwegians," he informed me. "Two days ago they've sent me a rather impolite letter, claiming that the amount of money they had got from us wasn't enough for their project. They want to talk to us in person a second time, but…"

"… but they refuse to come to Paris and insist on us coming to Oslo instead," I finished his sentence, rolling my eyes discreetly as he nodded again. Usually only the first meeting took place close to where the persons who wanted money from us lived, so that we could have a look at their projects, and the rest was dealt with in Paris. Yet the Norwegians had never obeyed that unwritten rule. If they hadn't been recommended to us by a man with whom we already had a very successful partnership, I'd have never considered giving them money at all.

"Could you arrange a meeting and travel to Norway alone?" I asked him, expecting him to accept dutifully, even though we had both only returned from there a few weeks ago and hadn't liked it. Yet to my surprise he shook his head.

"I'm afraid that will hardly be possible," he replied, staring down at the table instead of meeting my eye. "Juliette, my wife… she's expecting. The birth could take place any day, and you know what…" He swallowed hard and was unable to go on, but it wasn't necessary. I knew what he was referring to: When his wife had given birth to their first child, she had lost so much blood that it had nearly cost her life. I could understand that he wanted to stay with her. Still it put me in a really bad position.

My worries seemed to be visible on my face, for he said:

"If you insist on me going, I'll do it, of course. I know you want to work less and spend more time with your family.".

Naturally that generous offer threw me into an even worse conflict. Could I stay at home, knowing M.Levarne, who was the most loyal and reliable partner I had ever had, was in Norway and would perhaps never see his complete family again? The mere thought made me feel like a terribly selfish person.

But then, if he didn't go, I'd have to. And what would Christine say if I came home with such news? She wouldn't be happy, that much was certain. After all, she had been angry when she had found out about this meeting. I could imagine very well what her opinion on me leaving the country for days would be like. Maybe she'd even accuse me of having known it all the time and holding back information from her.

"It's all right, Raoul," M.Levarne assured me. "You don't have to say anything. I know that I'm the one who has to go. I'll place the fate of my family in the Lord's hands. If it's in His will, things will be fine by the time I'll come back…"

Interestingly, it weren't his words that caused me to make a decision. It was the use of my first name. Even though I had offered it to him at least a dozen times, he stubbornly refused to call me Raoul, claiming it wasn't decent for a man not belonging to aristocracy. Yet on those rare occasions when he did use it I clearly felt the friendship that had blossomed between us over the years of working together.

And suddenly a second scenario appeared in front of my mind's eye. I no longer saw myself standing in our living room, talking to my wife. Instead, I imagined being on Juliette's funeral, sitting in the row behind M.Levarne and hearing his muffled sobs, knowing that his misery was my fault. What would it feel like to live with that guilt? No, I couldn't do that to him. I wouldn't be able to cope with the knowledge that I had destroyed a family.

Covering his hand with mine for a moment I told him:

"You're not going anywhere, Gilles. Your wife needs you at her side, not hundreds of miles away. I'll go.".

A bright smile lit up his face.

"Oh, thank you," he breathed, looking so relieved that I was afraid he might try to embrace me. Quickly I changed the subject, before something embarrassing could happen.

"Did the Norwegians say how long they think my visit will take?" I asked.

"They were speaking of a few days, but knowing them a week is more likely," he replied.

I nodded.

"I'll need about a day to get everything settled here in Paris," I muttered, speaking half to myself. "So send a message to Oslo, telling them I'll depart tomorrow afternoon, and make all necessary arrangements." As an afterthought I added: "And hire a coach for me. I can't take ours – Christine will need it.".

He gave me a lopsided smile.

"The Norwegians won't be pleased about the additional expenses," he said.

"Well, that's their problem," I gave back with a shrug. "If they came to Paris, there would be no such expenses."

We finished our meal during a pleasant conversation about our children, then we said goodbye. I was no longer particularly looking forward to coming home. Telling the driver to stop at the market I bought a bouquet of colourful flowers for my wife. Maybe they'd help her digest the bad news more easily. I could only hope the Phantom wasn't there anymore. He'd doubtlessly make me look like a heartless fool who didn't care about his family. But then, not everyone could have work that didn't require him leaving the house…

Arriving home I noticed in delight that that coach from the opera, which had stood in the street when I had left, had gone. I dared relax a little as I opened the door. Yet before I could do as much as take off my hat, Larisse came running along the corridor, faster than I'd have thought possible.

"M. le Comte! Oh, thank Heavens you're here!" she exclaimed, and for the second time within an hour I was exposed to the danger of being embraced by a very unlikely person. Involuntarily I took a little step backwards. "Something terrible has happened!"

My heart sank. Frantically I looked around for signs indicating what had been going on, but everything seemed quite normal. But then, there were crimes that didn't leave traces that obvious. A terrible suspicion crept up my spine and settled down in my head.

"Was it… our guest? Did he do something?" I asked, wondering when my mouth had had time to become so very dry.

"No, no, M.Erik has already left the house an hour ago," she replied. "Thank goodness he has taken the children with him. He promised to bring Antoinette to her teacher on the way, you know…"

"So what _did_ happen?" I wanted to know impatiently.

"Oh, it's terrible!" the cook cried. "Come with me!" She led me down the corridor. My mind was racing. There were so many ´terrible´ things that could have happened in my absence. On the one hand I wanted to ask Larisse about it, but on the other hand I was too afraid to do so.

The cook opened the door to the living room, and we went inside. To my enormous relief my wife was sitting there on the sofa, seemingly unharmed. She was clutching the hand of Jacqueline, who was next to her. With a few quick strides I was at Christine's side.

"What happened?" I asked, touching her shoulder softly.

She looked up at me, and I saw tears glistening in her eyes. Wordlessly she pointed at the table. A piece of paper was lying next to a little cardboard box. One word was written on it in big red letters: _Soon_. Cautiously I lifted the lid of the box… and gasped in shock. A dead sparrow lay on a layer of black velvet.


	73. Chapter SeventyThree

**Chapter Seventy-Three**

**September 15th 1892: **_Raoul_

Slamming the lid onto the box I shrank back in horror, away from that dreadful sight. Yet even as I closed my eyes, the picture of the little bird with its soft-looking feathers and its terrible dead eyes was still there. It was engraved in my mind, and I'd surely never manage to get rid of it. Opening my eyes again I ran a hand over my forehead and noticed it was wet with cold sweat. Quickly I wiped it off on my trousers.

"I'm so sorry that you had to see this, love," I said, settling down on Christine's other side and taking her other hand. Apparently she needed all the support she could get. Jacqueline threw me a grateful glance. "Could you fetch something to drink, please?" I addressed Larisse, who was still standing on the threshold, looking lost. She nodded and walked away, obviously glad about having a task that didn't require her being in this room. I couldn't blame her.

When she was gone, I squeezed my wife's hand lightly.

"And now tell me what has happened," I encouraged her. Yet she merely glanced at me with her big eyes, and I realised she was still too shocked for words. It was Jacqueline who started speaking instead.

"Well, M.Erik left after lunch," she began. "He took the children with him, telling us that the house of Antoinette's teacher was on his way and that we shouldn't bother sending her in an extra coach. Given Gabriel's state that wouldn't have been possible anyway…"

"What's the matter with Gabriel?" I asked instantly. "He's not still asleep, is he?" I found it a little annoying that I had hired a coach to get to the restaurant, so that Christine could have ours, and now she hadn't used it at all. Would Gabriel turn out to be like our last driver, who had enjoyed a drink too much every now and then?

"Yes, he is asleep, but it's not what you think," the maid replied, as if she had read my mind. "He woke up with a strong cold: fever, a cough, aching limbs… Madame took one look at him and sent him back to bed."

I nodded absently, remembering that there were more important things than the health of my coachman now.

"And what happened next?" I wanted to know.

"A little while after M.Erik and the others had left there was a knock at the door," Jacqueline answered. "Jacques went to open it, but no one was there, just… that." She indicated the box, shuddering. "There was no address on it, so Madame opened it… I never heard someone scream like that," she finished.

"I thought it could be a present from you," Christine whispered, her voice hoarse. "You know, because you were so loving when you left…"

I remained silent, feeling ashamed, though there was no reason. It was true that I sometimes sent my wife presents, little signs of my affection, especially when it had been hard to say goodbye. How terrible it must have been for her to lift the lid of the box, hoping to find a pair of earrings or a bracelet, only to see a dead sparrow instead!

I was just about to open my mouth, determined to say something that would comfort her, as Larisse returned with a tray. It turned out that she had interpreted my words rather freely. Instead of the alcohol I had expected she had made tea.

"Drink it with sugar, then it'll help against the shock," she advised us, pouring the light brown liquid into four cups and adding generous amounts of sugar.

I seized a cup, but it wasn't meant for me. Cautiously I brought it to Christine's lips, sensing that her hands would shake too much for the task. I didn't fail to notice the irony: While I had been shaving, it had been my hands that had shaken, and now it were hers. At first she didn't open her mouth, seemingly unaware of what was going on, but when the rim of her cup pressed against her bottom lip lightly, she allowed me to pour a little tea into her mouth.

She swallowed and swallowed, and after a few moments her face began to lose its very pale colour and grew rosy. I didn't stop until she had drunk the whole cup's contents.

"Thank you," she muttered as I put it onto the table. I noticed in relief that she both looked and sounded rather normal again. "And now you have to take some as well," she went on in a very determined voice.

"That's very thoughtful of you, but I'm fine," I assured her. I simply didn't feel like drinking tea. The mere thought made my stomach lurch.

Christine shook her head.

"You only say that because you can't see yourself," she reasoned. "You're as white as the tablecloth. You'll drink now, or I'll have to pour it down your throat myself."

I was her husband long enough to know when she was serious. This was one of those moments. Quickly I seized a cup and took a sip. The tea was very sweet, much sweeter than I normally had it, but it actually helped. My stomach calmed down, and I no longer felt as if I had to throw up any moment.

I cast Larisse a grateful glance.

"Thank you," I said. "That was just the right cure."

She gave me a humble smile.

"Once you'll be as old as I am, you'll know how to help in a situation of crisis," she muttered. "Tea can solve more problems than you can imagine."

Vaguely I wondered whether this was the reason why she had invited the Phantom to tea this morning. Had she sensed that there could be problems with him or was it merely a sign of her hospitality? It was an interesting question, yet not one that had to be thought about immediately. There were more urgent matters at the moment.

Letting my gaze wander over the assembled persons, noticing that the two other women also looked better than before, I realised somebody was missing.

"Where is Jacques?" I asked. "He has not… passed out or something like that when he saw the contents of the box, has he?" I had to fight back a smile. Jacques usually kept his emotions to himself, up to the point at which one could forget that he had any. The thought that he could have done something as obvious as passing out was slightly amusing.

"But no!" Christine replied with a dismissive gesture. I could see that all three women were trying hard not to smile. Apparently they were thinking along the same lines as I. "He didn't even see what was in it. Right after he had fetched the box, I sent him to Gabriel's parents. You know, he was invited to lunch there today and didn't want them to get worried because he can't come. So Jacques will bring them a message."

The word ´message´ reminded me of the one we had got.

"´Soon´ what?" I mumbled.

Christine shrugged.

"I have no idea what it could mean. There was nothing on the envelope, so we can't even tell whether the note is for you, for me or the both of us…" No one uttered a certain question, but it was present on all our minds: Who sent such a cruel gift?

"We'll better go now and leave you alone," Jacqueline said suddenly, pulling Larisse to her feet as well. Together they went out of the room, muttering to each other. It took me a moment to understand that they probably suspected we were about to talk about private matters, which they shouldn't hear. I couldn't help smiling. It was good to have considerate servants.

"So… let's assume the box was meant for you," my wife suggested. I nodded reluctantly, even though it made me feel a little sick again. It was the more likely option, whether I liked it or not. Hastily I drank some more tea. "Who could have anything against you?"

My first thought were the Norwegians, simply because I wasn't too fond of them at the moment. But then I realised that was ridiculous. Why should they threaten me and ask for a new meeting at the same time? It didn't make sense.

Yet there were others who didn't like me, of course.

"Maybe it was one of the people who I refused to give money to," I mused, massaging my temple, as if it made thinking easier. "There was this man a few months ago who wanted to turn an old house he had inherited into a theatre. It was one of the most stupid projects I had seen in years. The house was so old that it was a miracle that it was still standing. And it was in such a poor part of Paris that no one would have gone to the theatre anyway. Yes… I remember the man got very angry, telling me I'd regret not having given him money…"

"But do you think that man would do… _that_?" Christine asked, pointing at the box, which by now was standing under the table. She didn't sound very convinced. I could understand her. It was one thing to tell someone he'd regret his actions, and a completely different thing to send that person a dead bird. I shook my head.

"I cannot imagine someone would do that for business reasons," I replied. "That dead bird… such an action is full of hatred, and one doesn't hate someone who didn't give one money. Besides, what would be the point? Being threatened will certainly not make me think about whether I've done someone justice."

We were silent for a few moments, thinking hard. At last I dared voice a suspicion that had been inside my head ever since I had mentioned the word ´hatred´.

"Do you… well, do you know what the Phantom did after he left our house?" I asked as cautiously as possible, perfectly aware of what kind of reaction that question could cause.


	74. Chapter SeventyFour

**Chapter Seventy-Four**

**September 15th 1892:** _Christine_

Unsurprisingly my initial reaction was fury. How dared Raoul insult Erik like that? Yet when I looked at him, prepared to hurl insults at him, I couldn't bring myself to actually doing it. He was already ducking, ready to jump up and hide behind the sofa if it would be necessary. In a moment of absolute clarity I saw what would happen if I started shouting now: He'd defend himself, eventually beginning to shout as well, and in the end neither of us would have achieved anything but hurting the other one. What we needed was a sensible discussion – not an easy thing when the subject was Erik.

So I asked:

"What makes you assume it could have been Erik?".

Raoul threw me a puzzled glance, clearly astonished that I wasn't yelling at him yet. Confronted with such a question he needed a few moments to find the right reply.

"Well, it seems fitting," he started not very convincingly. "The letter was written in red ink, juts like the notes he used to send the managers."

I raised an eyebrow. If that was all he had to say in order to underline his theory, I wondered why he had bothered opening his mouth at all. But he wasn't finished yet.

"There's more," he went on quickly. "The Phantom has a reason for being angry at both you and me. The two of you didn't make love, and he certainly blames me for it as well. He blames me for everything." He looked at me in a way that clearly said ´See? I believe what you told me, even without having talked to him as well.´ I was rather impressed, yet that didn't keep me from pointing out a mistake.

"You're forgetting something," I corrected him, although I was reluctant to bring up that topic again. "It was Erik who refused my offer, not the other way round."

Raoul merely shrugged.

"That was a decision he made in the heat of the moment," he claimed. "But later, when he thought about it more closely, he regretted it. All the time he was with you today he thought about how he could have missed such a unique chance. And since he can't blame himself, he takes it out on us."

"It could be a reason," I admitted slowly. "But Erik isn't the kind of person who would do something like that. He loves me. He'd maybe send me a piece of jewellery, but never… _that_. It's just not… his style."

"It's exactly his style," Raoul contradicted me. "Have you forgotten all the strange things he has done ten years ago? And what about last night at the opera? He didn't act like the sanest person in Paris there…"

Now I didn't know what to say. My first impulse was defending Erik at all costs. But then, Raoul did have a point. My former teacher indeed had a rather weird way of reacting. And my husband didn't even know all the things he had done between the wedding and today. Of course I didn't plan to tell him about them. It would only have confirmed his suspicion that Erik was the person responsible for the box.

Still… in my heart I was absolutely sure he hadn't done it. Erik loved me, and he'd have never done something like that, just for the sake of scaring me. He was aware that if I ever found out he was the guilty one, I'd never want to meet him again. Moreover, I wouldn't let Philippe close to him anymore. He wouldn't risk that for the momentary satisfaction of his anger.

Besides, he hadn't even been angry. No matter what Raoul told me about the subject, I didn't think Erik regretted not having made love to me. He had been so affectionate and caring in the morning, not at all like someone who was angry. He had even thanked me again for our night together. And during his stay at our home, he had been very friendly and polite. Was this the behaviour of a person who had an evil plan?

But I knew that my husband would only laugh about such arguments – either that, or he'd grow furious, accusing me of being in love with my former teacher. Neither option was desirable. So I had to say something which he couldn't contradict, something like… solid facts.

"You may be right about that," I replied at last. "But have you ever considered the time?"

"The time?" he repeated, his triumphant smile fading.

"Yes, the time," I said slowly and clearly. "Erik couldn't possibly have sent the box and the note because he didn't have the time to do so. When he left our home after lunch, he had the children with him. Don't you think they'd have noticed it if he had stopped somewhere to get a dead bird? He wouldn't have exposed them to such a sight." Raoul nodded reluctantly, knowing I was right. Not even he could deny Erik's love for the children.

"And he couldn't have done it after bringing Antoinette to her teacher and Philippe to the opera," I went on. "The box arrived only half an hour after they had gone, and the journey to Mme.Tadoux alone takes that long."

"Maybe he already had it with him before he came here," Raoul argued.

"Then I'd have seen it," I dismissed his idea. "After all, it's not so small that he could have hidden it under his cloak. And he couldn't have had it in the coach before either, for he simply hired the first coach he saw in the street."

I took a deep breath, rather pleased with myself. Now Raoul had to understand that Erik had nothing to do with all this. Yet he still didn't seem to be content.

"He could have already prepared and sent it last night, after the end of the performance," he said.

"But Raoul," I muttered with a little sigh. "Now you're forgetting the reason you've told me a minute ago. At that time Erik had no idea I would come back and we wouldn't make love. So what would have been the point in threatening me? We parted on good terms."

"All right, all right," he said, giving me a lopsided smile. "You've convinced me. But if it wasn't him, who was it?"

"If only I knew that…" I murmured. "There's no way for us to find out at the moment, and the police would just laugh at us. All we can do is throw the box and the note away and hope it won't happen again." We looked at each other, fully aware that it probably was a futile hope. But there truly was nothing else for us to do.

Raoul stood up and pulled out the box from under the table, the expression on his face one of utmost disgust.

"I'll dig a hole in the garden and bury the little bird," he announced in a surprisingly soft voice. "After all, it was not its fault that it was used in such a dreadful way, and I don't like the idea of cats coming to eat it… Maybe I could use some of those flowers." Following his gaze I noticed for the first time that there was a bouquet lying on the floor next to the door.

"Oh, did you buy me flowers?" I exclaimed. "That's so nice of you. Thank you." Getting up as well I gave him a kiss on the cheek, momentarily forgetting my worries. I loved receiving flowers, and those were particularly pretty with their pink and white blossoms. Quickly I made my way to the door and picked them up. "Of course we can use some of them for the grave," I told him. "And the rest we'll put in a vase." I chose three especially beautiful flowers and handed them to Raoul. "Burying the sparrow is a lovely idea, by the way," I added. "Do you mind of I come with you?" He smiled at me.

Together we went into the garden. My husband chose a spot at the back, directly at the high fence. I watched him dig the hole with a spade he had brought with him and put the box into it. Then he covered it with earth and placed the flowers on top of the small grave. All the time I tried hard not to burst into tears. Yet even though it was just a bird, whom I had never seen alive, I couldn't help being sad about its death. It would have deserved a happier end than being murdered, just to make someone frightened.

When he was finished, Raoul came to stand at my side. He seized my hand and held it tightly.

"Goodbye, little bird," he whispered hoarsely. The lump in my throat grew even bigger as I heard how close to tears he was.

"Yes, goodbye," I muttered. "I hope you had a good life." The birds in the trees high above us were singing merrily, a farewell song for their deceased friend.

We stood there for quite a while in the sunshine coming through the leaves. The minutes that passed weren't exactly cheerful, but I was glad about having someone like Raoul to share them with. His kindness made up for his pointless accusations. I squeezed his hand gently, and he returned the gesture.

It was only when we went back to the house that I noticed the unpleasant side effect digging a hole had had on Raoul: His suit was dirty.

"Maybe you should have changed your clothes before coming out here," I said, although this suggestion would have been far more useful a quarter of an hour earlier. "Look at all those stains…" I gestured at the earth on his trousers.

"Oh no!" my husband exclaimed. "I wanted to wear that suit in Norway when I - " He bit his lip.

I stopped dead, my hand slipping out of his.

"What?" I muttered, throwing him an incredulous glance.

"Oh, Christine, I didn't want to tell you like that," he said miserably. "But now that it's out… yes, I'll leave for Norway tomorrow, and I won't be back for a couple of days."

"So you're leaving me alone?" I whispered, suddenly feeling very cold. The birds' song was over.


	75. Chapter SeventyFive

**Chapter Seventy-Five**

**September 15th 1892: **_Raoul_

My assumption had been wrong. I didn't need the Phantom to make me feel like a heartless fool. Christine's hurt gaze managed to do so very well.

"I'm sorry, love," I muttered. "I wish there was another way, but there isn't. The Norwegians want to talk to me again, and they insist on doing it in Oslo rather than Paris. If I don't go, I could lose them… and all the money I've already given them! And think about my reputation! People will no longer offer me projects if they hear I don't care about my partners."

I threw her a pleading glance, hoping she'd understand me. Due to the lack of time we hadn't talked about my business too often lately, but she knew enough to comprehend I couldn't put my reputation at stake. It would have been worse than the loss of money. In my business a good reputation was worth its weight in gold. So far, I had never had problems in this respect, but it could change easily. I had seen it happen to other people.

Yet naturally all that didn't mean as much as my family. The box and the note had moved me more than I'd ever admit in front of my wife. I was frightened. What would happen _soon_? Another disgusting object in the mail? Or maybe an attack of some kind? An abduction? My mind was racing with the most terrible scenarios my imagination could come up with. No one should be allowed to cause my family fear.

At last Christine nodded.

"I understand what you're saying," she told me. "But why can't you just send M.Levarne instead of going yourself? He's your partner, Raoul, and he knows your business as well as you do." I saw the faint flicker of hope in her eyes and despised myself for having to extinguish it.

"Do you remember Juliette, M.Levarne's wife?" I asked her. "They dined with us sometime last month."

"Yes, I remember her," she replied after a moment. "Isn't she expecting? I think we were talking about the difficulties of giving birth…"

"That's just the point," I said, glad that she had provided me with a good introduction. "She is indeed expecting, and you know the last birth almost cost her life. So her husband doesn't want to leave her alone in such a hard time."

"I see…" she murmured, chewing lightly on her pretty bottom lip. I could only guess she was thinking that same things I had, and apparently she came to the same conclusion. "So you have to go," she stated. I nodded sadly, yet I was also relieved that my wife understood my reasons. She even allowed me to take her hand again as we made our way to the house.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………...

I spent the rest of the afternoon in my study, finishing all the things that had to be done before I could leave. It was surprising and also slightly embarrassing how many such things there were. If my desk looked like this after just a few days away from home, I hardly dared imagine what it would be like to come back from Norway, after a week or even longer.

Finally I made a pile of documents that had to be brought to M.Levarne. He was so glad that I let him stay with his wife that he'd probably be happy about taking over a few more tasks. There were a couple of meetings he'd have to go to alone, but I didn't think he'd have any difficulties. He knew the potential projects and the people offering them just as well as I did, maybe even better. It occurred to me that actually it was quite a good test: If things went smoothly while I was in Oslo, I could trust him to get along on his own when I spent time with my family.

The delivery of the documents was a little problem, so was picking up the children from their teachers. Gabriel was still in a dreadful state, too ill to walk more than a few steps. To my surprise Jacques offered his help. It had been so long since the last time I had seen him drive a coach that I had completely forgotten he could do it. Yet I learned that he had also visited Gabriel's parents with the coach instead of walking there. So he ended up fulfilling both tasks, bringing back Antoinette and Philippe alive and well.

After dinner, when the children had gone to bed, Christine and I talked for a while, but we avoided the delicate topic of the box and the note. Our subjects were of a practical rather than an emotional nature: Should we fetch a doctor if Gabriel's fever became worse? When would we be able to take him to his own home? Which tasks in the household had to be done in the next days? How much money would my wife need during my absence? It was a good conversation, yet not one in which we talked about the truly important things.

Now that I was lying in bed, my arms wrapped around Christine's small body, I felt truly calm for the first time ever since I had come home. It was difficult to be worried if one was warm and comfortable and knew that all the loved ones were safe. By now, I had even started entertaining an extremely comforting thought: What if it had been nothing but a mistake? What if the box had been meant for someone else and had just been brought to the wrong door? With this idea on my mind, as soothing as honey for a sore throat, I finally drifted off to sleep.

A few minutes later it began. Since I hadn't been asleep for long, I woke up quickly as I heard a sound. At first I assumed somebody had knocked at the door. I even called "Come in!" in a low voice, but there was no reply. Instead, I heard the sound again, closer to where I was. The sound itself had changed as well. It was no longer dull, but higher, like… breaking glass?

I had no time to think about it, for in the next moment all hell broke loose. A dark object hit the windowpane of the left window, smashing it at once. A second one followed, breaking the window in the middle. Then there was the dull sound again. The third one had merely hit the windowsill. With baited breath I waited to see whether it was safe to leave the bed, but nothing else happened. I nearly tripped over the carpet in my haste to get out as quickly as possible. Grabbing my dressing gown from a chair and pulling it over my nightshirt at the same time as I put on my slippers I was almost out of the door when a voice made me stop.

"Raoul?" Christine whispered anxiously. "What's going on? Where did that noise come from?"

"Someone's smashing our windows," I replied, opening the door. "I have to find out who it is. I'll be back in a minute."

"Be careful!" she called after me. It hurt me to leave her in that frightened and confused state, but it was more important to catch whoever it was before something even worse could happen.

In the corridor I almost collided with Jacqueline, who was rushing towards our room, the white nightdress and dishevelled hair making her look like a ghost.

"What is happening, M. le Comte?" she asked, sounding just as scared as my wife. "Somebody threw a stone against the window in Philippe's room, yet it only hit the wall next to it. Fortunately the children didn't hear it."

"Go and fetch Christine," I instructed her quickly. "One of you stays with each child, in case they do wake up. And be careful – two of our windows are broken, and I don't know how far the pieces have flown." The maid nodded and ran past me, while I made my way downstairs.

It was all quiet in the garden. No one was standing at the places where I suspected one had to be in order to throw something at that side of the house. Whoever it had been had taken no risks, leaving as soon as there had been light behind a window. Even though it was not very likely that somebody still was in the garden, I crossed the lawn with fast strides. My lantern illuminated the spots behind trees, bushes and any other hiding place I could think of. No one. Discouraged I returned to the house, with the certainty that something had to be done.

A quarter of an hour later all adults were assembled in an impromptu meeting. The lines between servants and my wife and me, not very important to us at the best of times, were completely forgotten now. We were all frightened and desperate to find a solution. It was a matter that concerned all of us.

Since Gabriel had insisted on taking part as well, but was too weak to stand up and come to the living room, we had squeezed into the guestroom, so that he could listen to us while lying in bed. It also had the advantage that we could leave the door open to hear whether one of the children woke up and called for us. Christine and the maid were sitting on the two chairs, whereas Jacques and I were standing. The only person missing was Larisse, who didn't live here, but spent the nights with her family.

After the excited and pointless chatting had ceased, we could start a useful discussion.

"Well, you all know why we're here," I began. "There has been an attack on this house tonight. Three windows are broken, two in our bedroom and one in an empty guestroom. Of course they'll have to be replace tomorrow, but that's not important at the moment. In combination with what was in the mail yesterday, we have reason to believe that this was just the beginning. Now we have to talk about what to do, especially since I'll be leaving for Norway tomorrow and won't be here to protect my family."

"Wouldn't the police believe us now?" Christine asked.

"I don't think so," I replied. "They'll tell us the damage was probably caused by some drunk people looking for a little mindless destruction. That's nonsense, of course. Drunk people wouldn't have bothered to walk all the way from the front gate to the house and then smash the windows at the back instead of simply taking those at the front. Whoever was out there this night knew what they wanted – or what he or she wanted, since we don't know whether it was one person or a few."

"But if the police knew all that – " Jacqueline argued, only to be interrupted by Gabriel:

"Even if they knew the story _and_ believed it, what should they do? They can't send people to patrol around the house day and night. M. le Comte is an important man, but he's not the king or someone like that.". I nodded, grateful that he shared my opinion. "If only I wasn't ill!" he exclaimed with a deep sigh that turned into a cough. Jacqueline patted his back sympathetically.

"M. de Chagny, if there's anything I can do…" Jacques interjected, yet there wasn't much hope in his voice. He knew as well as everyone else that he was an old man who couldn't fight criminals.

"If you could continue driving the coach, you'd be a big help for all of us," I told him gently, making him give me one of his rare smiles.

I sighed. The situation was frustrating. Why was Gabriel, a normally so healthy young man, ill now, when I'd have needed his support more than ever? And why did those dreadful things have to happen just when I was about to leave the country?

"Raoul?" Christine addressed me softly. "There is a solution, you know, but I'm afraid you won't like it."

"If that solution includes going to the opera…" I said with another sigh. "…you can be sure I won't like it. And still I'll do it."


	76. Chapter SeventySix

**Chapter Seventy-Six**

**September 16th 1892: **_Raoul_

Neither Christine nor I had slept much in the rest of the night. After we had agreed on what to do, everyone had gone to bed, except for Gabriel, who of course had been in bed all the time. My wife and I had tried our best to sleep, but it hadn't worked. On the rare occasions when we had managed to doze a little, the softest sound had been enough to make our eyes snap open again. And there had been many sounds. Even though the broken windows had been covered with blankets hanging from the walls like particularly dull tapestries, small sounds had come from the garden and the streets. I hadn't known our quiet neighbourhood could be that loud.

When Christine had eventually drifted off to an exhausted sleep, her last words had been: "Thank you for doing that for me.". This had given me reason to think endlessly about whether my decision had been right. Facing the kind of problems I had, sleep had seemed like a ridiculous idea. But then, my night-time pondering hadn't been very effective either. The only result I had got was a slight headache the next morning.

Even now, on my way to the opera, I was thinking about the very same things. I had a lot of time to do so, since I had refused Jacques' offer to drive me. Maybe a walk in the fresh morning air would make my headache go away. Besides, I didn't need another person to discuss my problems with. It was more than enough to discuss them with myself.

Christine had been pleased that I had agreed with her idea right away, without any objections. What she didn't know was that I had had the same idea moments before her, yet I wouldn't have admitted it, not even to myself. For some reason it had been easier to accept it as hers. After all, it was normal for her to think of _him_ as a good solution. I, on the other hand, still thought me a little insane for coming up with it.

Asking the Phantom to protect my family! Even when I only repeated it in my head, it sounded like a ludicrous idea. It was like sending a wolf to protect a flock of sheep, with the important difference that those sheep were the people who meant most to me in the world. Of course I hadn't told my wife about that impression. To her, that man was a saint. Despite all the things he had done to her, she still seemed to trust him.

And he loved her. Wasn't it strange that one of the facts I hated most of all had been the main reason for deciding that the Phantom was the right man for the task? Admittedly I could have hired other people for my family's protection, but I could have never relied on them completely. A little money in the right moment made many people look away and let bad things happen. He would never do that. No matter how much I didn't like him, I could be sure of his loyalty.

Or couldn't I? There was still a little part of me that thought he was the one responsible for the box and the attack, despite everything Christine had said. That little part thought him capable of a lot of evil things in order to get what he wanted… namely my wife. If it had indeed been his plan to give her the feeling that she only was safe with him, he had succeeded. I couldn't even blame her. At the moment our house wasn't the most secure place to be.

So I was on my way to the opera now. Briefly I had considered going there last night, but I hadn't liked the idea of leaving my family alone any sooner than I had to. Moreover, I hadn't seen why I should approach him at his favourite time. As soon as he'd realise what I wanted, he'd become insolent enough without me making it any easier for him.

That was also one of the reasons why I hadn't taken Christine with me. The mere idea that she could stand in his home, talking about our problem in her soft voice while he sneered at me, letting her praise him for being generous and helping us, made my headache increase. It was bad enough that I had to humiliate myself. I didn't need any witnesses.

In order to cope with my nervousness I applied a strategy I had often used before difficult conversations: I practiced them in my head, trying to predict what the other person would say and how I'd react. Yet in this case it was nearly impossible. The Phantom was the most unpredictable person I had ever met. The only thing I could be sure of was that in the end he'd agree, for the sake of Christine and the children. This knowledge should have made me calmed, but it didn't work. All I could do was imagine his ironic smile and the snide remarks he'd make over and over again. But the time I reached the opera the intensity of my headache had doubled.

My wife had described the way down to the cellars to me, for I hadn't been able to recall it. My journey down there was an experience I preferred not to think about. Yet even thought I knew the way now, I was reluctant to go. It was true that the entire opera was in his power, and still I felt safer on the floors above ground. Irrational fear welled up inside me, showing me pictures of him making me vanish from the face of the earth once and for all times. I shivered.

It occurred to me that maybe the Phantom was not in his lair anyway, but causing chaos on the stage or scaring the poor stagehands. He could also be sitting in Box Five. Yes, that was a good thought. The boxes were a place I could get to without problems. If someone saw me and asked what I was doing there, I could claim I had been to the first night and had lost something. And even if he wouldn't be in his box, he'd surely notice the disturbance and come to throw me out. Besides, there was a certain irony in the fact that I would welcome him in his favourite place, just like he had done it in my living room a few days ago.

I didn't meet anyone on my way to the boxes. The reason soon became clear to me as I heard the faint sound of the orchestra: There was a rehearsal taking place. Within minutes I had reached Box Five. It wasn't even locked, which I thought a little strange. But then, why should I complain about something that was my advantage? I simply went inside. No one was there. I decided against sitting down. Provoking the Phantom a little by coming here was all right, but I didn't want to risk being killed without him listening to what I had to say.

The curtains were open, so that I could see what was happening on stage. About a dozen unhappy-looking chorus girls were dancing a passage that I recognised as a part of the second act of the opera I had attended two days ago. Mme.Giry stood on the right-hand side, brandishing her walking cane like a dangerous weapon.

"No, no, no!" she called. "Listen to the rhythm, Mesdemoiselles! The rhythm is supposed to support your dance, so don't work against it! You have to flow on it, then the elegance will come quite naturally."

A few moments later the passage was over. Yet before the ballet mistress could signal the conductor to start again, a girl with auburn hair dared object.

"But Mme.Giry, why do we have to practice all this over and over again?" she asked, her bright voice so loud that I could easily hear her. "After the first night you told us we had been good. Even the newspaper said so…"

"Yesterday you were not good," Mme.Giry interrupted her. "I have received a very angry letter of the Opera Ghost this morning, saying there will be serious consequences unless your dancing improves considerably. I know some of you think a couple of blue faces weren't that tragic, but I can assure you that was nothing but a warm up for the Ghost. So we'll practice. Anyone who has objections is free to go." She pointed at the door with her cane. The girl with the auburn hair shook her head, looking mortified, as if she was already deeply regretting her brief act of rebellion. On a second wave of the cane the music started again, and so did the dancing.

"Lovely, aren't they?" a soft voice next to me asked conversationally, making me jump. I hadn't noticed the moment when the Phantom had joined me. He was simply here.

"Quite," I said shortly, wary because I didn't know what he was up to. Friendliness didn't mean anything good with this man. "You're writing letters again?"

"Oh, I never stopped doing that," he replied readily. "They just decreased in number and frequency, but I intend to change that. What about you? You're sneaking after me again? Or are you planning to tell me you're here to watch the chorus girls?"

"Of course not," I answered indignantly. "I'm here because I… we need your help." Now it was out. The first step was done. Quickly, before the courage to do so left me again, I explained what had happened. "And we think you're the only person who's able to protect my family in my absence," I finished, looking at him expectantly. He hadn't made a single insolent remark yet, which was rather unnerving. The expression on his face was devoid of emotion.

At last he smiled. It was the relaxed, complacent smile of a man who was playing cards, knowing from the beginning he'd win, but not showing it in order to make losing worse for the other players in the end.

"Of course I'll help you," he declared. "But there are a couple of… conditions…"


	77. Chapter SeventySeven

**Chapter Seventy-Seven**

**September 16th 1892: **_Erik_

It was a well-known phenomenon that sometimes things changed so quickly that one could hardly understand what was happening and why it was happening. Seemingly perfect days turned into nightmares, and boring days became exciting. Today belonged to the latter category. It had started completely normal. Since his mother wanted to take him to the seamstress, Philippe wouldn't be with me until the afternoon. So I had decided to watch a part of the rehearsal in order to make sure Mme.Giry carried out my instructions.

And then the Vicomte had entered my box, just like that. At first I had hidden, determined to teach him a lesson he wouldn't forget in a hurry , but when I had indeed shown myself after a while, it had been even better than I had expected. Having that man ask me for help was a rare pleasure, and I couldn't help enjoying it. The story itself, however, hadn't been enjoyable at all. Someone was attacking my Christine and her children? It had been on the tip of my tongue to ask why he hadn't brought them to me at night or at least alerted me sooner.

Yet none of those questions had left my mouth. They would have revealed how upset I was, and in my opinion showing such emotions in his presence would have been an unforgivable weakness. So I had forced myself to remain calm, not interrupting his story once. My mind had been working quickly while I had listened. If I'd say the right things now, the situation could turn out very well for me. I could gain quite a few advantages from it.

"What kind of conditions?" the Vicomte wanted to know. "Do you need money? I'll pay for whatever you miss in the times you won't be at the opera. It would mainly concern the nights anyway, and since I understand you don't sleep too much, that shouldn't be a problem either, should it?"

My smile widened. Many other people would have been impressed by his self-assured way of talking, but I wasn't. I knew that he was only talking this much because he was nervous, which was a fact that made me enjoy the situation even more.

"It is truly touching how much you care about my financial situation and my sleeping habits," I said dryly. "But I'm happy to tell you both are quite all right. It is correct that I can live with little sleep, which will doubtlessly come in useful when I'll look after your family. You also don't have to worry that I won't have enough money. I'm still getting 20,000 Francs a month, and soon it'll be 40,000."

He looked at me in surprise.

"40,000?" he repeated. "Why?"

"Well, Philippe is already helping me a lot," I replied. "This means that he is also helping the opera and its managers. When there are two Opera Ghosts, it is only logical that the double amount of money is to be paid."

The Vicomte shook his head in disbelief. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. Even he had his bright moments.

"So you see that I don't need any more money," I went on. "I already have enough for me and my little pupil. What I want is… something different…" I made a little pause for effect.

"What?" he suddenly shouted. "What is it you want? Can't you just tell me?"

"The only thing I'll tell you as long as you're that unfriendly is to stop yelling," I answered pleasantly. "Or do you want to drawn the attention of the chorus girls and the entire orchestra to the fact that you're here with me?"

He threw a surprised glance at the stage, as if he had just remembered all those people were still there. In the moments when he had shouted the music had been rather loud, yet if he had done it just a minute earlier, at least two dozen heads would have turned into our direction by now.

"I'm sorry," he said through gritted teeth, not sounding sorry at all. "Could you tell me… please?"

I could have continued this game for a very long time, yet fortunately for him I was not in the mood. The revelation that was about to come would put his resolution not to shout to the test.

"I want your family," I declared, watching in delight the expression on his face turn into one of pure horror. I let a few seconds pass while he gaped at me. Then I went on: "Not forever, of course… just for the time when you'll be gone. I'll move in your house, ride your coach, sit at your place at the table, tell your servants what to do… and sleep in your bed, next to Christine.".

My last few words seemed to have pulled him out of his stupor.

"Never!" he hissed. "I won't let you come that close to Christine and the children!"

"Then it'll be a little difficult to protect them, won't it?" I pointed out sensibly.

He snorted, knowing I was right and hating me for it. I could almost see his mind working, trying to find a balance between the things he could change and those he simply had to accept. Little he knew that every single one of my conditions belonged to the latter category. I wouldn't give in.

After a few moments he said, as persuasively as he was able to:

"You can't really want to spend all that time with my family. What about the opera? Won't people do everything wrong without you guiding them? Won't they miss you?".

I could hardly keep myself from bursting into laughter. The Vicomte was a terrible liar. He knew as well as I did that everyone would be happy about me leaving for a while. The managers would probably have a party once they heard about it.

"I'm sure they'll get along on their own," I replied, trying to remain serious, although the urge to laugh was still there. "Besides, I won't be gone all the time. An important part of Philippe's education takes place at the opera, so I'll come here with him every day. Christine and Antoinette will accompany us. The girl can watch the dancers practice, and Christine can use the time to talk to Mme.Giry or Meg. I believe they haven't seen each other too often lately. But then, how should you know that?" Now I did chuckle.

He looked at me as if he'd have loved to murder me with his bare hands, but he was wise enough not to try it. He even seemed to have understood that he couldn't change my mind completely. So he merely argued:

"All right, you can stay in the house. But wouldn't it be much better if you took one of the guestrooms? You'll be awake most of the time, and in the bedroom you'd only disturb Christine…".

"Oh, please don't think I don't sleep at all," I told him. "It's a very light sleep, though. I can assure you that I'm perfectly capable of sleeping next to your wife and waking up at the softest sound. So you don't have to be worried that I'll keep her awake… at least not in that sense…" I patted his arm in mock sympathy. This conversation was getting better and better.

"But I am worried!" he cried, pushing my hand away. Biting his lip he then peered down at the stage anxiously. No one seemed to have noticed his outburst. At least no one looked up at us. He took a deep breath, apparently trying to calm down. As far as I could tell it didn't work at all. "I am worried," he repeated in an urgent whisper. "I don't like the idea of her lying in bed with you…"

"Why not?" I asked instantly. There were many things I despised, and people who changed their moral standards every other minute were one of them. "Only two nights ago you sent her to me, so that we'd make love. And now she's not even allowed to lie next to me anymore? That's something you've got to explain to me."

I glared at him. I had not forgotten the state Christine had been in when she had come to me that night, her eagerness to fulfil her husband's wishes combined with her own fear. If I could make him consider all that at least a little, this discussion would have been a success in more than one respect.

After several moments of looking down at his shoes and some more chewing on his lip he seemed to have found a reply.

"Lying in bed together… it's something husband and wife do," he explained hesitantly. "So you shouldn't do it with her."

"Have I understood that correctly?" I wanted to know. "You'd approve of me making love to her, as long as I stand up afterwards and don't fall asleep next to her?" I rolled my eyes. And there were people who thought _I_ were insane!

I had expected a retort, but none came. When I took a closer look at him, I noticed that he seemed to have shrunk under my gaze, till he was no more than a completely helpless boy.

"No," he muttered. "No, no, no… I don't want any of this. I don't want you living in my house and spending time with my children and being in bed with my wife. I don't want all that…"

He looked so miserable that I almost pitied him. Well, not quite.

"You have that family all the time," I told him in the soft voice usually reserved for people I actually cared about. "All I want is a few days with them. I can assure you that I'll protect them till my last breath. You know that you won't find anyone better, or you wouldn't have come here."

Sensing that I was reaching him, I lowered my voice to a whisper far more persuasive than he could ever be.

"Your servants won't have to call me ´Master´, your children won't have to call me ´Papa´, and Christine… I won't force her to do anything she doesn't want. If she tells me to sleep in a guestroom, I'll do it. Please… just say yes."


	78. Chapter SeventyEight

**Chapter Seventy-Eight**

**September 16th 1892:**_ Raoul_

In the moments before I opened my mouth to reply thousands of thoughts flooded my head, till I felt as if it were about to explode. Arguments bumped into each other like people on an overcrowded market place. Pieces of them flew by, staying hardly long enough for me to hear them.

_This is madness. You can't invite him into your house. – He'll protect your family. – You can't trust him. – Christine trusts him. She'll keep him under control. – Unless he'll seduce her… - He respects her wishes. – He doesn't respect anything. – But he's so lonely…_

I inhaled sharply. Where had that thought just come from? Since when did I care about the Phantom being lonely? If I started pitying him, it was a clear sign that I was going insane. But then I understood the reason why my mind had singled out that thought. It wasn't pity I was feeling, it was wariness. He was indeed lonely, and that could become very dangerous. What if he liked my family and the pleasant life that went with it so much that he'd refuse to leave again, even after my return? What if he'd steal my wife and children?

The fear that seized me now was bigger than anything I had felt before, the annoyance that once again he knew more about my wife and whom she met than I did, the anger about the way he talked about interfering with other people's lives… yes, even the anxiety that he could make love to Christine hadn't been this strong, this all-consuming. I couldn't think of anything else. It filled my head.

Vaguely I recalled that I had had this feeling before, only yesterday, when I had seen the Phantom in my kitchen, drinking tea like a normal guest. He had looked as if he belonged there, as if he had visited us many times and was always welcome. And later, when Christine and I had sat down as well, that impression had grown stronger. Who'd have thought that this man, who didn't exactly have a reputation for fitting in, would get along with everyone that well?

And that was precisely what I was afraid of: What if I'd come back from Norway, only to find the family sitting at the table with no vacant seat for me? Maybe they wouldn't even miss me… No, I couldn't let that happen! It was true that I needed him, but there had to be something I could do to stop him from taking over my life. There was indeed something.

"All right, I agree," I told him. "But I've got a condition myself."

At once the slightly pleading expression on his face vanished. He looked as cold as marble as he gave back:

"I thought you'd have understood by now that you're in no position to bargain. Yes, I know what you want to have changed, but I will sleep in your bed, unless Christine tells me not to.".

"I wasn't about to start with that again," I muttered, earning a surprised glance. "All I want is a contract saying you'll leave my house again once I'll be back."

He shook his head, probably in disbelief.

"Of course I'll leave then," he stated.

"That's what you're saying now…" I murmured, half to myself. "Can we make the contract then?" I asked in a louder voice.

"If you have that little trust in me, we can do it," he agreed with a smirk. He seemed to be aware of the fact that I didn't trust him. Yet if it bothered him, he didn't show it. Maybe he was used to it.

It was only when I wanted to pull my pen out of the pocket of my jacket that I noticed I didn't have it with me, just like I didn't have a single sheet of paper. My cheeks flushed slightly as I wanted to know:

"Can we go somewhere else? I seem to have forgotten my writing equipment…".

Instead of giving a reply he turned around and left the box. At the door he stopped briefly and faced me again, nodding. I followed him, guessing that this was what he had wanted to tell me in his uniquely friendly way.

To my surprise he came to a halt in front of a door I recognised even after ten years.

"Didn't the managers use to have their office here?" I asked.

"Oh, they still do," he replied casually. "That's why we're likely to find paper and pens there. In other rooms it would be more difficult." He inserted a small object into the lock, and within moments the door was open.

He entered the room, and I went with him. I didn't like the idea of being here without the managers knowing about it, but if I wanted my contract, I had to play by the Phantom's rules. I even suspected he had only chosen this room because it would make me feel uncomfortable. That would be just like him.

Once we were inside, I couldn't help looking around curiously. The room hadn't changed very much since then days when we had discussed how to get rid of the Opera Ghost in here. There were a couple of new pictures at the walls, and one or two pieces of furniture had been replaced by others.

"Do you insist on writing the contract yourself, or can I do it?" the Phantom's voice brought me back to the present. He had sat down at the imposing desk, and a sheet of paper was lying in front of him. He even already had a pen in his left hand. It was clear that he wasn't sitting here for the first time.

I thought about it for a moment, then said:

"You can do it. But I want to have enough time for reading it later, and anything I want changed will be changed. I also want my own copy, so that you can't add things later.". The reason why I allowed him to write it was simple: Like this, he couldn't accuse me of having forged the contract. No one could imitate such a terrible handwriting.

It took him a few minutes to write down what I thought was the first draft. I spent the time reading the newspaper I had found on a chair and glancing at the door nervously. I hardly dared imagine what would happen if the managers came in and caught me here with him. Yet apparently the Phantom had known what he was doing when he had brought me here. No one tried to enter the room.

"I'm finished," he finally announced, and I walked over to the desk. The sheet of paper I picked up and held in front of my face to examine horribly reminded me of the notes I had read ten years ago, with the only difference that this one was written in black ink instead of red. The managers probably hadn't had any other colour. The text itself was rather short.

_I hereby declare that on September 16th 1892 I will move in the house belonging to the de Chagny family (Rue de la Garnelette 14, Paris). This action will happen in order to protect Comtess Christine de Chagny, her children Antoinette and Philippe, the servants Jacqueline Tulous, Larisse Gardé, Gabriel Padoir and Jacques Devoirelle as well as any of their guests in the absence of Comte Raoul de Chagny. In that period of time, which cannot be defined precisely at the time of writing this contract, I will take the role of Comte de Chagny, providing his family with money and all the care they need. When the Comte returns from his business travel to Norway, I will leave the house, unless there will be an emergency._

_Paris, September 16th 1892_

Under the last line there was an illegible scrawl, probably his signature.

"How do you know the last names of all my servants?" was my first question. I had surely never told him. Since he hadn't even met Jacques and Gabriel in person, I was surprised he knew their first names. And how could he be sure there weren't more servants?

Yet he merely smiled.

"I'm a well-informed man," he replied, which probably meant he had asked either Christine or Larisse, who seemed to be particularly fond of him.

"Well, all in all the contract appears to be good," I muttered while I read it again, just to be sure I hadn't missed any little detail. With this man, everything was possible, and I was not willing to take risks. My eyes stopped at a line at the bottom of the sheet of paper.

"What do you mean - ´unless there will be an emergency´?" I wanted to know.

"Imagine you come back and those criminals – whoever they are – have set the house on fire," he said with an intensity that made a shiver run down my spine. "Do you really want me to leave then instead of rescuing your family?"

"Of course not," I replied shortly. "But can't you find an expression less vague?"

"Like what?" he asked, grinning as I struggled for words. It really wasn't easy.

"You can keep it like that," I murmured, trying to ignore the triumphant expression on his face.

"Now you have to sign as well," he instructed me, thrusting the pen into my hand.

"Why?" I wanted to know warily.

He sighed, as if I were a particularly stupid child who everything had to be explained to.

"This is a business contract," he told me. "One should assume you had seen enough of those to recognise it. As long as it's only signed by one person, it's more or less worthless. I couldn't even prove you asked me to write it."

I didn't mention that actually the contract was meant to be for my benefit only. If I had done so, he'd have surely torn it. So I simply placed the sheet of paper on the desk again, next to the copy he had already made, and signed both of them. Briefly I wondered whether Faust had felt like this when signing his contract with Mephistopheles.


	79. Chapter SeventyNine

**Author's note:** More than 400 reviews - wow... I can't even begin to tell you how much your support means to me. Thank you!

**Chapter Seventy-Nine**

**September 16th 1892: **_Raoul_

"So, when will you be leaving?" the Phantom asked as soon as he had pocketed his copy of the contract. He seemed positively cheerful, which was slightly unnerving. Certain people simply weren't supposed to be that cheerful; it didn't suit them. Seeing him like this made me questions my decision again. Had I maybe even overlooked something in the contract, something that made him happy now?

One thing was certain: He wanted to move in as quickly as possible. Yet since that was one of the facts I couldn't change anymore, I could as well give him the information he needed.

"I'll leave at about two in the afternoon," I replied shortly, hastily adding: "But you don't have to come to our house at that time. No one would dare smash windows in broad daylight, and I advised everybody not to open letters or anything else that might be sent to our door. So there's little that can happen. It should be enough for you to come at dusk… That would also be better for the neighbours.".

The latter reason was something that had just occurred to me. What would our neighbours say if they saw a stranger move in our house, especially a male stranger who was wearing a mask? Since we were living in a wealthy part of the city, the other houses didn't stand too close to ours, but of course one had a good view on the street from all of them. I could practically see the cooks and maids standing at the windows, gossiping.

Yet I should have known that curious neighbours didn't bother the Phantom.

"You can be sure I'll be there before dusk," he told me. "The whole effect would be ruined if I arrived in the dark."

"Effect?" I repeated weakly. Was he planning a big appearance that would make everyone talk behind our backs for years?

My suspicion seemed to have been visible on my face, for he answered:

"I'm not talking about the kind of effect you're thinking of. I have no interest in scaring your neighbours. But have you never considered the possibility that someone might watch your house? The attack has made me almost certain of it. Most windows were smashed in your bedroom, so the attackers knew where it was. Otherwise they could have taken any windows, probably even on the ground floor. No, they knew who lives in which room.".

"That's all very well, but how does it connect to the time of your arrival?" I wanted to know, a little annoyed because he had thought of something I hadn't.

"What will happen if those people see you leave? They'll think the house was unprotected and attack again, and I won't be there to prevent it," he explained. "So I have to move in when you leave, as long as it's day. Then they'll see me and think twice about coming close to me."

I nodded. Despite his overly self-confident manner, he was right. It wouldn't have been wise to leave my wife and children alone, even only for a few hours. No gossip could be as important as their safety. Maybe I'd be able to make up a story for the neighbours later. Fortunately most of them didn't know anything about what had happened at the opera ten years ago. I was very grateful that the Baroness and her husband didn't live nearby.

Seizing the sheet of paper I told him:

"I'll go now. You surely have many things to prepare, and so do I.".

"Goodbye, Vicomte," he said, the incorrect title sounding even more like an insult, now that I had read it correctly on the contract.

He stood up and had already reached the door when I caught up with him and squeezed through the partly open door first. After all, I couldn't lock it, and it could have led to a very awkward situation if he had left me behind there.

Since none of us had the desire to make conversation, our ways parted quickly, and a few minutes later I was walking down the street again. The fact that I wouldn't see the Phantom for a while was the only aspect about my travel to Norway I actually liked. Yet of course there also was the knowledge that he'd spend that time with my family… and I hadn't even told Christine about it yet.

The thought hit me so suddenly that I stopped dead. Maybe I should have asked my wife before deciding that he could stay at out home all the time. After all, she'd be the one who'd have all the trouble with him. I couldn't imagine the children would mind his presence, and the servants would probably be glad about the protection. But what if Christine disapproved?

Or – even worse – what if she approved a little too much? I had analysed before that my fear of losing my family was stronger than anything else, but it was closely followed by my fear that my wife could give in to the Phantom. Admittedly nothing had happened two nights ago; I accepted that as a fact by now. Yet it meant very little for the future. At that time he had been the one who hadn't wanted to make love, for whatever reason. Perhaps she hadn't even tried to persuade him very hard.

Now he'd be the one responsible for the persuasion, and I had no doubt he'd do it properly. With me out of the country, he'd have several nights in which to take advantage of Christine's loneliness and fear of new attacks and offer her a very special form of consolation. I could see it very clearly in my head: bony arms holding her slim body tight, hands wandering over thick curls towards the delicate flesh of her neck, chaste kisses on the forehead turning into passionate ones on the mouth… If he was lucky, it could very well work like that.

Yes, he had told me he'd respect her wishes and sleep in the guestroom if she wanted him to. Yet how much was that promise actually worth? I had heard of mysterious techniques which made a person forget his or her own opinion and adopt someone else's. What if he'd use that on her? But the absolutely worst scenario possible was that she'd simply agree to make love to him out of her own free will. I didn't think I'd survive that.

"Never!" I only realised I had really shouted out that word when I noticed a little girl running away from me. She had probably begged me for money, and I had seemingly given her a rather unfriendly reply. Quickly I walked away, before anyone could see me. So I was scaring children now. Things were getting better and better.

The contract was rustling in my pocket. I still insisted on believing it had been a good idea to write it. With the help of that piece of paper I'd be able to get the Phantom out of the house again, even by contacting a lawyer in case it would be necessary. Yet it wasn't any help with my current problem. I needed something else. Maybe I should make another contract with Christine, in which she'd promise not to make love to her former teacher.

The conversation that had to precede such a contract wouldn't be pleasant, though. My wife would surely tell me the same things I had already heard from the Phantom, and just like him she'd be right. I couldn't expect her to follow my orders, doing one thing on one day and the opposite on the other day. Besides, I was no fool. I knew that a sheet of paper couldn't keep two people from doing something they both wanted. Perhaps that was just the solution: I didn't need something else. What I needed was someone else, an ally.

It only took me a few more minutes to reach my home. Throwing a brief glance into the stable I smiled. The coach wasn't there. So Christine was still at the seamstress' with Philippe. Now I could only hope she hadn't taken the person I wanted to talk to with her. Once my wife was back, I'd have to talk to her as well, and things would get more complicated. I had to make sure everything was settled before her return.

I found her in Antoinette's room, picking up toys from the floor and putting them into a large wooden box.

"Good day, Jacqueline," I greeted her.

She spun around.

"Oh, M. de Chagny, you startled me," she said, her breathing a little faster than usual. "I thought I were alone here. You know, Jacques has taken Madame and the boy to the seamstress, Antoinette is at her teacher's, Larisse has gone to the market, and Gabriel is still too ill to get up. So when I heard a voice…"

"I'm sorry," I apologised. "I didn't mean to scare you." I kneeled down on the floor next to her, which earned me a suspicious glance. I didn't often sit on the floor.

"Is there… anything I can do for you, Monsieur?" she asked hesitantly.

"As a matter of fact, there is indeed something," I replied. In a few sentences I told her where I had been this morning and what I had achieved. "And now I'm afraid that something more than friendship could develop between them," I said.

"I see," she muttered. "But what can I do about it?"

"You can help me while I'm not here," I answered eagerly. "It's very simple, really. All you have to do is pay attention to how my wife behaves, especially in the mornings. Is she exceptionally cheerful or maybe rather sad and subdued? Maybe she won't be quite herself. The nights are very important as well. If you hear anything… strange from the bedroom, you should send me a letter right away. Perhaps she won't know how to defend herself. Then you'll have to help her." I looked into her eyes seriously. "Will you do that for us, Jacqueline?"


	80. Chapter Eighty

**Chapter Eighty**

**September 16th 1892: **_Jacqueline_

M. de Changy's revelations made me feel dizzy. It was good that I was already sitting on the floor, or I might have fallen down. The last time when I had been trapped between the wishes of my two masters had been more than difficult, and I hadn't wanted to repeat it. And now such a situation was there again, even worse than the first one.

My other master would live in our home for the time the Comte wouldn't be here. That part wasn't too bad, actually. I had been worried about staying in the house without a man able to protect us, and if the stories I had heard from my sister could be believed, the Opera Ghost was just right for the task. Dozens of rumours at the opera were dealing with his almost legendary strength and cunning.

The other news, however, hadn't been that positive. If it really was my other master's intention to seduce Madame, there was nothing I could do about it. He was stubborn and didn't change his mind just because someone told him to do so, that much I knew from experience. Besides, I wouldn't dare tell him anything. I was dependent on him.

And Madame wouldn't make things easier for me either. Had her husband forgotten how violent her mood swings were? I wasn't a doctor. How could I know why she did what she did? There could be a thousand reasons for her to be cheerful or sad, and my other master was only one of them. And of course I couldn't just ask her. We got along very well, but such questions would have gone beyond the limits of our friendship. And even if I knew for sure she wasn't feeling good, how was I supposed to help her? At least that was a question I could utter.

"Of course I'd do whatever is necessary, Monsieur," I assured him. "But what exactly do you want me to do if I… realise that man's presence is bothering Madame, for instance? How can I help her? Surely you don't expect me to throw him out of the house, do you?" A slight note of panic had sneaked into my voice during my last words. I doubted my other master would show mercy under such circumstances, not even to someone who was working for him as well.

In the face of so many questions the Comte seemed to grow a little helpless.

"Maybe Jacques could help you," he suggested half-heartedly. "Or maybe Gabriel will be healthy again. He's strong and – " Seeing the sceptic expression on my face he interrupted himself, sighing. "Yes, I know it's not easy," he said. "But if you really have the impression that you can't handle things yourself anymore, there is another solution, one that you should only use in emergencies."

"What?" I asked, fervently hoping it had nothing to do with any kind of weapon. I couldn't hurt a fly, except when it was bothering one of the children.

"You can send me a letter, and I'll come back," he replied. "You see, in the contract I have with him, it says he'll leave as soon as I return, no matter when it'll be."

I nodded. It sounded like a good idea, especially because it didn't include the use of violence.

"I'll do that," I promised. "But I'm still not sure how to gain the knowledge whether something is going on between Madame and… the guest. I mean… do you want me to listen at the door of the bedroom at night?" I gave a nervous little laugh.

Apparently M. de Chagny misinterpreted that sound, for he said:

"I know how ridiculous it had to sound for you, and I also know it won't be pleasant to do such things behind my wife's back, but it's important.".

Quickly I glanced into the other direction, so that he didn't see me blush. If he had any idea how often I had stood at their door at night, listening hard, just to make sure they weren't awake and having a conversation I had to tell my other master about, he wouldn't be sitting here with me that peacefully.

A few moments passed in silence while I continued putting toys into the box, waiting for him to either say something or leave. The former happened.

"Oh, I feel terrible doing this!" he remarked. "Asking you to sneak after Christine and tell me what she does – this is not how things are supposed to be between husband and wife. Shouldn't there be trust?"

Since my face had taken its normal colour again, I dared turn around to him.

"But you do trust your wife," I told him. "You just don't trust… well, _him_, and with all the stories I've heard that's only natural. If he's really still in love with Madame, it would be foolish to trust him…" I continued talking, but my heart wasn't in it. In a way I actually trusted my other master. He was a very eccentric man, that was true, but he had always kept his promises. Yet I couldn't possibly tell M. de Chagny about that, for it would have revealed too much. So I simply said what I thought he wanted me to say, feeling terrible for being disloyal.

After a while he stopped me, a thin smile on his lips as he covered my hand with his.

"It's very friendly that you try to support me," he muttered. "But it's not true. I… I do not trust my wife."

"Oh…" I made, although I felt more like gaping at him or shouting: ´Do you know what you've just said?´. Calling me ´surprised´ would have been an understatement. ´Shocked´ was the more fitting term.

"´Oh´ is just the right word," he commented with a bitter laugh. "I always trusted her, you know, even though most people thought me insane for doing so. I trusted her for all those years, and now… I just can't do it anymore, at least not blindly. There are situations in which I trust her, yes. Otherwise this relationship wouldn't work anymore. But when it comes to the Phantom…" His voice trailed off as he absent-mindedly picked up a doll's dress and let it fall it the floor again.

I felt increasingly uncomfortable. I just wasn't the right person to have this conversation with. It seemed wrong that he was sitting on the floor, playing with a tiny velvet dress and discussing his problems with a servant. Admittedly the border between the two groups of people living in this house was never too strong, but it existed. At the end of the day, the Comte was paying me. So I had to say what he wanted to hear. Yet what on earth was that?

"If it's any consolation to you, Monsieur, I don't think anything will happened between them," I said. "I mean, why should she want to take him, when she already has you?" I gave him a warm smile. Flattery usually was very good for the male soul. I had noticed that the whole story involving the Phantom had damaged M de Chagny's self-confidence considerably, and if a few nice words could help build it up again, I was willing to assist.

I hadn't expected him to take my rhetorical question seriously, but he did.

"Oh, there are many reasons," he replied. "So many things connect the two of them: their history, their love of music… Sometimes I wonder whether she wouldn't have been better off marrying him instead of me." He glanced at me miserably, and I realised that I had been wrong. This man was past the stage in which flattery could be of any use. I had to take more drastic actions.

"You're right," I told him cheerfully. "She should have indeed married him. But it's not too late to make things right. All you have to do is go to Norway and never come back. Then he can take your place, live as Madame's husband, maybe even become the father of a few children and be happy, while you're sitting in Norway, being lonely and sad for the rest of your days." I beamed at him, as if this were the most obvious solution.

He stared at me.

"Are you insane?" he called, pulling his hand away from mine as if he had touched a hot kettle. "I would never do that! I love Christine, I love my children, and I wouldn't just leave them for good!"

"Then why are you talking as if you had already given up?" I asked him, trying not to be intimidated by his outburst, which contorted his handsome features into a grimace. "If your wife wanted to be with another man, she'd do so. She had a thousand chances to leave you, every time you've been away from Paris, but she never did it… because she loves you."

The Comte calmed down visibly, his face relaxing.

"What shall I do then?" he wanted to know.

This time I seized his hand.

"Just try to trust her," I answered. "If you come back and nothing has happened, you'll perhaps even be able to trust her forever. And if I notice something is seriously wrong, I'll let you know."

"Thank you," he muttered weakly, squeezing my hand lightly.

We sat there for a while, lost in thought. Picking up a small wooden horse and letting it trot over his arm, the Comte remarked:

"When I was younger, I thought that the older I'd become, the easier my life would get, because I'd be able to make my own decisions. But just the opposite happened.".

I merely shrugged. So he thought _his_ life were complicated? _I_ was the one who was torn between two masters. If I lost the trust of one of them, either my sister or I would be plunged into misery. Some people had no idea what real problems were.


	81. Chapter EightyOne

**Chapter Eight-One**

**September 16th 1892: **_Christine_

The visit to the seamstress was not as enjoyable as usual. In general I liked looking at the different kinds of fabric, trying to find the best one for a certain piece of clothing. Yet today I had left the choice to Mme.Galantine, watching her kneeling in front of Philippe to measure how much he had grown since the last time we had been here. If there was one thing I didn't care about at the moment, it was the colour of my son's new trousers.

All the time while I was sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, sipping tea and waiting for the seamstress to be finished, I thought about my husband's meeting with Erik. I could easily imagine how they treated each other when I wasn't there, and I didn't like it at all. What if they argued or even fought? What if they hurt each other?

Perhaps I should have insisted on Raoul taking me with him. Communication between the two men would have been less complicated when someone who liked both was there. Yet in this respect arguing with my husband had been pointless. If he had to break with old traditions and ask Erik for help, he'd at least do so without an audience. I could understand him, but it didn't make me any less nervous.

I had even done something I'd never admit to anyone: After Raoul was gone in the morning, minutes before we had left as well, I had made my way to his study and checked whether the pistol had still been at its usual place. I had been immensely relieved when I had found it. Yes, I should have trusted him not to be that foolish right away, but I knew how people could react in demanding situations. In such a situation I myself had taken the pistol with me and used it to threaten Erik. It made my heart considerably lighter that my husband couldn't do the same. My former teacher would rather die himself than murder me, but I wasn't sure whether the fact that he was the father of my children protected Raoul very well.

It all depended on in which mood the two men would be by the time they'd meet. My husband would certainly not be happy, but the very reason why he was unhappy, the fact that he needed him, would also let him remain peaceful. He was aware that Erik was important for our lives now. Without him, he'd never be able to go to Norway without fear being his constant companion.

Erik, on the other hand, was an unpredictable factor, for even I couldn't know in which mood he was today. When he'd hear Raoul's question for help, he'd be pleased, that much I could be sure of. But he'd also seize the chance to torment my husband mercilessly, to comment on his inability to protect his family himself. And my husband wouldn't know how to react without making the other man so angry that he'd refuse to help us. Yes, it was good that he didn't have the pistol with him.

If only the seamstress would hurry up a little! I felt as if I were sitting here for years, while important decisions were made somewhere else, without me. Tapping my foot on the carpet impatiently, I waited for Mme.Galantine to speed up. Didn't she notice that I didn't want to be here any longer? Obviously she didn't. Her back was facing me, and the carpet was so thick that not even my foot was making a sound that could have informed her of my wish to go.

I couldn't help wondering whether my husband would already be home by the time we'd come back. I hoped so. Otherwise the waiting would start again, and in our house it would be even more difficult. I'd have to lock the doors to resist the temptation to join the two men at the opera. Actually it wasn't too bad that I was trapped here, at the other end of the city. It kept me from making nonsense.

Taking another sip of tea I tried to relax. What was the worst thing that could happen? Well, Raoul could… and Erik could… No, that was not a good topic. What was the _best_ thing that could happen? That was much better. I forced myself to ponder on what the ideal scenario would be. It definitely included Raoul and Erik speaking to each other in friendly voices, agreeing on a solution that would be best for everyone and my husband leaving the country without worries.

I knew it wasn't very likely that everything would happen like this, but it was a nice fantasy which let the time pass more quickly. When the seamstress announced that she was finished, I had just arrived at the part in which Erik swore to protect us come what may, and Raoul shaking his hand and smiling at him. Maybe it was better if I stopped quickly, before I started believing in it myself.

"You'll get the new trousers in about five or six days' time," Mme.Galantine informed me. "Should I send them to you, or do you want to pick them up yourself?"

"I'll fetch them," I decided hastily. At the moment I didn't trust anything that landed on my doorstep.

The woman nodded and made a note on a piece of paper that she attached to the fabric she had chosen. I threw a brief glance at it, saw that it was dark blue and thick and nodded as well. It looked like a fabric I'd have picked, too.

I stood up and walked over to Philippe, who seemed to be very happy that he didn't have to stand still anymore.

"Can we go now, Maman?" he asked in a low voice, shaking his legs. "It's so boring here… When I'm with Uncle Erik, things are much more exciting." I smiled as I noticed the sparkle in his eyes. Unfortunately his last sentence had been a little loud, though.

"Uncle Erik?" the seamstress repeated with a questioning undertone. "I don't think I've ever heard of him, and I've been working for you for years…" She looked at me as if it were an especially cruel crime not to let her know about everything that was going on in our lives.

"He's talking about his teacher," I explained quickly, before rumours about a mysterious uncle in the de Chagny family could be born. The slight frown on the woman's face disappeared at once.

"So you're having a teacher now, my little one?" she addressed my son. "An excellent idea, Madame. Children learn best at such an early age, that's what I always say. Do you like your teacher, dear?"

He nodded eagerly, even though it was clear he didn't like such terms of affection when they weren't coming from members of the family.

"He's very nice," he told her. "And he's showing me a lot of things no one else can do. I already know how to –"

"Read and write," I interrupted him. I hardly dared imagine what would happen if Philippe said what else he learned. "Yes, he is indeed a very good teacher. But we've got to go now. Goodbye!"

With these words I seized my son's hand and left the seamstress' small shop, before she could come up with any more questions, maybe about what the teacher's full name was or where he lived. The little scene had reminded me that I'd have to talk to Philippe about what to tell people about his Uncle Erik soon. One wrong word could cause a catastrophe. Yet as we reached the coach, he settled down on the coachbox next to Jacques, who reluctantly started explaining how the coach was working. The old butler was marginally more friendly to him than to others, probably because the boy reminded him of Raoul. Quickly I sat down as well.

During the coach ride my thoughts involuntarily wandered to Erik. The idea that he'd be the one to protect us was a good one. He'd easily be able to combine it with his duties at the opera. The most important times when he'd have to be with us would be the nights, and nothing was happening at the opera then anyway. Yes, on that level it would work very well.

The only aspect I was worried about was the personal level. I'd have to spend a lot of time with Erik. How well would I sleep, knowing he was somewhere in the house, watching over us? And how would it feel to have him at my side when I left the house? Would this be my last coach ride without him? Yet mostly I was afraid of myself and how I'd react. In the past, there had been situations in which I had felt a certain attraction to him. What if that happened again? I could find at least a little comfort in the fact that I wouldn't see him more than a few hours every day.

When we arrived home, Raoul was already coming down the stairs to greet us.

"Jacqueline is in your sister's room. Why don't you go to her and tell her about the new trousers you'll get?" he then suggested to Philippe, who nodded and ran up the stairs at once.

"So, how did it go?" I asked as soon as the boy was out of earshot.

Instead of replying right away, he led me into the living room and shut the door behind us. I swallowed hard. That was not a good sign.

"Do you want to sit down?" he muttered, gesturing at the sofa. I grew even more worried. What kind of news were received best while sitting? Not the good kind, that much was sure. Since he remained standing, I did the same.

"All I want is that you tell me what happened," I said urgently.

"Well, I talked to the Phantom, and he agreed to protect you and the children," he answered uneasily. "But there is… something else. He insists on moving in the house and living here all the time while I'll be gone. He wants to… he wants to take my role in the family, Christine."

"What?" I repeated weakly. "No… Please tell me that's not true!"


	82. Chapter EightyTwo

**Chapter Eighty-Two**

**September 16th 1892: **_Raoul_

Before I could think about what to say, I was already muttering explanations. My wife needed them, and she needed them quickly.

"Please don't think I like this any better than you, my dear!" I whispered. "But it was his condition to move in with you. If I hadn't agreed, he wouldn't have come to protect you at all. There was no other way…"

"Have you even tried to find another way?" she asked me, her accusing voice burning into my flesh like acid. "Or did you just say yes to everything because you're not concerned directly anyway?"

"How can you say that, Christine?" I wanted to know. "Of course I tried to find other ways, but he didn't even consider them for a moment. He was determined to get what he wanted, and he knew very well that he was in the better position."

To my surprise, her features grew a little softer. A slight smile appeared on her face.

"Erik is not an easy person to argue with, is he?" she said.

"One could put it like that, yes," I agreed, holding back a sigh of relief. I was unbelievably glad that she no longer blamed me for having given in. If there was someone who understood how difficult reasoning with that man was, it was her.

"I'm worried about what is in store for us," she admitted after a moment. "Did he tell you what he meant by ´taking over your role´?"

"Well, as far as I know he wants to have a family, if only for a while," I replied, trying to sound at least a little understanding, although I didn't feel like it. "So he'll eat with you, accompany you when you leave the house – that's safer for you anyway – play with the children, I guess, and…" I cleared my throat, but the words didn't come out. How could I say that he expected her to share her bed with him?

Yet it turned out that I didn't have to tell her anything. Apparently the appalled expression on my face spoke a very clear language.

"…and sleep with me at night," she finished my sentence. No trace of emotion revealed how she felt about it.

"Not sleep _with_ you, but sleep in the same bed as you," I stressed. After all, it was a very important difference. "But yes, that's a part of what he wants. Believe me, I fought for having it changed, and still he insisted on it. You are the only person who can do anything about it."

"Me?" she asked in a small voice.

I nodded.

"If you tell him to leave the bedroom and sleep somewhere else in the house, he'll do it. That's what he promised me, and I think he was serious about it."

"And what if I… don't tell him to leave?" By now her voice had become to soft that it was barely audible. I couldn't help noticing how small she looked, how helpless, standing at the fireplace and letting her little fingers wander over the porcelain figurines on the mantelpiece.

"Then he'll sleep in your room," I answered gently. "I… well, I could understand if you would like him to do that. Maybe it would make you feel safer." I tried my best to appear selfless, as if the prospect of another man sleeping in my bed didn't bother me, as long as it was good for my wife. Yet even the attempt to smile hurt me.

"The nights are long," she muttered, seemingly without connection to what I had said. "Long and cold and lonely…"

"Exactly," I agreed. The word was like a piece of glass in my mouth, cutting into my lips. "And if it makes you feel less cold to have him in the bed with you…" I couldn't go on. I swallowed the words that were still in my mouth, feeling them slit my throat as they tumbled down. The blood was starting to run down… No, it wasn't blood. It were tears, tears running down my cheeks.

Hoping against hope Christine hadn't noticed them, I embraced her. I buried my face in her hair, desperately seeking the comfort of the familiar scent.

"You've got to do what's best for you," I whispered. "But… I'm so frightened of losing you!"

She didn't say anything, but wrapped her arms around me and held me close till my sobs became fewer and fewer.

It took me a while to calm down. Every time I felt better the thought that this could be the last embrace I'd share with her shot through my head and sent a fresh wave of tears down my cheeks. At last I regained my composure enough to loosen my grip on her and lifted my head.

"Why do you think lying next to Erik could make you lose me?" she asked softly. "It wouldn't be forever, just for a few nights."

"But you could get used to it," I argued. "His smell, the feeling of his body, the way he touches you… and when I come back, you might like him better than me."

"You weren't worried about that when you sent me to him," she reminded me. This time she didn't sound accusing, and still the sentence felt like a slap in the face. I should have known she'd start with that topic again.

"It's a different situation now," I tried to explain. "You'll spend very much time with him, hundreds of hours… much more than one night. Perhaps you'll like the feeling of having him as your… husband." There it was, another of the words which felt like glass.

"_You_ are my husband," she said simply, brushing over my cheek with the back of her hand. "I couldn't ask for a better one. So why should I want to have somebody else?"

"You promise?" I whispered. "You promise that you won't forget me, even when you're lying in his arms?"

"I promise I won't forget you," she assured me. That wasn't exactly the answer I had wanted to hear. I'd have preferred ´I promise I won't lie in his arms.´. Yet I realised that was something I couldn't ask her to promise. No one knew how things would develop.

"Thank you," I breathed, running my hands through her hair. I noticed a large damp spot where my face had rested, but I didn't feel embarrassed for having cried like a little boy. I had just needed it, and she didn't seem to mind either.

I'd have liked to stand here for much longer, but a sideways glance told me there was no time for such things anymore. Gently I pulled myself out of the embrace.

"I should better begin to pack my belongings," I announced matter-of-factly. "It's nearly noon, and I'm going to leave at about two."

She nodded.

"Do you want me to help you?" she asked.

"Oh yes, please!" I exclaimed, giving her a boyish grin. I had never packed a suitcase alone and was afraid of forgetting half of what I'd need. Besides, I hoped the activity would give both of us the chance to return to normal after the emotional scene. As good as it was to talk about our feelings every now and then, it always left a strange taste in my mouth, as if I had done something wrong. Maybe it had to do with what my father had told me when I had been a boy: Men don't show emotions, especially not in front of women. Men try to _have_ as few emotions as possible. I had never obeyed those rules, and still they were engraved in my mind.

I tried to chase away the sombre thoughts and dedicate my attention to a simple task for a change, one that didn't require the utmost caution with every step. We left the living room, agreeing that my wife would go to the bedroom and start taking clothes out of the wardrobe, while I would fetch the suitcases and meet her later. So I made my way to a small chamber in which we stowed away various object we didn't need too often.

It took me a few minutes to find the two large suitcases made of light brown leather under all the other things. Unfortunately the search didn't have the distracting effect I had expected. It only made me more aware of the fact that I'd have to leave. I thought back to the last time I had looked for suitcases here, though not for the same as today. It had been before Christine and I had gone on holiday. How happy I had been at that time, how certain that everything would be fine! It was good that I hadn't known how our situation would develop, or I might have considered not coming back at all.

When I had finally dragged the suitcases up the stairs, Christine had already put several piles of clothing onto the bed. I left the actual packing to her, for she could do it much better than me anyway. Leaning against the wall, I watched her every motion, trying to absorb as much as possible. After all, I wouldn't see her for a while and wanted to keep her image vivid on my mind.

My wife, however, seemed to be annoyed by the fact that I wasn't doing much. She sent me to the bathroom or downstairs a few times to fetch other things I'd need, and in the end we had probably done about the same amount of work.

"Thank you for helping me," I said when we were finished, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Then I bent down and picked up the suitcases. "I'll carry those downstairs," I explained. "Sometimes coaches arrive early, and I don't want to hurry with lunch. If my luggage is already standing next to the door, I just have to take it and can leave."

I made a few steps in the direction of the door, but stopped as she called my name.

"Raoul? There's one more thing…" She sounded anxious and spoke so quickly that I could hardly understand her. Whatever it was she wanted to say, it was not pleasant.

"Yes, love?" I asked.

"What if… something does happen between Erik and me? Would you like me to tell you right away, in a letter, or - ?"

Continuing my way to the door I made a decision.

"I don't want to know it at all."


	83. Chapter EightyThree

**Chapter Eighty-Three**

**September 16th 1892: **_Erik_

I couldn't remember the last time I had been in such a fantastic mood. I felt positively elated as I walked from room to room, picking up things here and there and carrying them into my living room, where a suitcase stood on the floor with its lid open. Every time I entered a room I spotted several new items I had to take with me. It occurred to me that I'd probably only need half of the things I had already packed, but I didn't care. I didn't want to spoil my mood by thinking about such unimportant things.

Actually it was strange that I didn't feel uneasy and worried. After all, it was the first time in years that I'd leave the opera for more than a day. But then, I had thought about everything carefully. I had decided against telling anyone I'd be gone. It would have been too dangerous. What if the managers would have the stupid idea to start searching for my lair again? Of course I'd activate all the traps before I'd leave, but I didn't want to come back and find them filled with dozens of people. Freeing them again was such a tedious work.

If I did everything correctly, they wouldn't even notice I was gone. I often didn't show myself for a while without anyone suspecting I was no longer there. Besides, I planned to be present at a couple of rehearsals and at least one or two performances. I had to make sure that the chorus girls were truly improving their dancing. They had made a little progress, but it wasn't enough yet.

I also had to keep an eye on Signora Marchesi. At the moment she was very meek, but I wasn't foolish enough to believe this was more than a temporary improvement. When she felt that she wasn't under close observation anymore, she'd surely become as insolent as before, maybe even hurting my little pupil again. I wouldn't let that happen, not after I had spent so much time teaching her a lesson.

Moreover, Philippe would have been very disappointed if I had told him our lessons would only take place at his home all of a sudden. I had the impression that he loved the opera almost as much as I did, and it made me very proud of him. Some lessons simply had to take place here, if only for the sake of me seeing him walk down the corridors with the incredible security that came with absolute familiarity with a building.

Christine and her daughter wouldn't be a problem either. They'd be pleased about going to the opera every now and then. The girl loved watching the dancers. Perhaps I could even make arrangements for her to practice with the younger girls. From Jacqueline I knew she was a talented little dancer, and with such an action I could easily win her affection. The girl was the one member of the family whom I didn't know too well yet, but I was planning to change that. For once, I wanted everyone to like me.

This thought inevitably led me to Christine, who doubtlessly already liked me. Giving a little sigh I sank onto the floor, right next to the suitcase. The next days would be like a dream coming true. I'd live with the woman I loved, accompany her wherever she went, share her worries and happiness. Yes, it would be a wonderful time… if Christine wasn't opposed to it.

That was something I hadn't considered at all, and it didn't exactly improve my mood. What if she'd be appalled by the idea of living under the same roof as I? What if she'd throw me out of the house? No, she wouldn't do that, for it would have increased the possible dangers for her family. Only I could give them safety. That knowledge made me feel slightly better, and I continued putting pieces of clothing into the suitcase, stopping my pondering for a few minutes.

It was only when I held a couple of nightshirts in my hands that something else occurred to me: Christine couldn't throw me out of the house, but she could very well throw me out of her bedroom. There was nothing I could do about it. I had promised the Vicomte that I'd respect her opinion about that subject, and I intended to keep the promise. I'd never do anything against her will. But of course I did hope her will would be the same as mine.

That one night with her had been… it was hard to find the right term to describe it. I'd have never believed it could be like that, especially since we hadn't even made love. I had expected to be disappointed when thinking about it in retrospect, but that wasn't the case. I was content with the closeness I had felt. Besides, I'd get a second chance now. I put the nightshirts into the suitcase and closed the lid with a determined snap. Maybe she'd see me in them and maybe she wouldn't. That was something only time could show.

Looking around in the room to make sure I hadn't forgotten an important object I wondered whether in another part of the city the Vicomte was just packing as well. No, it was probably his wife who was doing that, while he sat somewhere, holding a lecture about she was she allowed to do in his absence.

It was a pleasure to imagine how uncomfortable he had to feel in these minutes, knowing I'd soon be with his wife and unable to prevent it. I had got a hint of those feelings when he had been here at the opera this morning, but now they had to be even stronger. I wouldn't put it past him to try and use a chastity belt to keep me from touching Christine. Well, it was good that I was skilled with all kinds of tools.

I was still chuckling to myself as I left the house, my suitcase in one hand and a lantern in the other one. I didn't use the gondola, but chose the longer way around the lake, activating the traps as I walked past them. Of course I could have also done that from my home, yet I preferred checking whether they were all still working. Nobody knew I wouldn't be here, but one just couldn't be too cautious. Some of the stagehands could become ridiculously curious when they had had a drink too much, and those traps would make them turn around and run away.

Since I didn't want to draw attention to my departure, I went out of the opera through the Rue Scribe entrance and entered the coach that was already waiting for me in the street quickly. It was the perfect time for leaving. The people working at the opera were either still inside the building or in one of the restaurants around it, enjoying their lunch. When the coach started moving, I threw a brief glance over my shoulder, feeling a strange melancholy. I told myself sternly not to be this stupid; I'd probably come back here as soon as tomorrow. Still the feeling remained.

Although I didn't pay much attention to the way, I knew it was too early as we came to an abrupt halt that nearly threw me off my seat.

"What's wrong?" I asked the coachman. "We're not there yet. That's not the address I've given you."

"Yes, Monsieur, but the coach over there made me stop," he replied. "That man seems to want to talk to you."

I hadn't even noticed the other coach next to ours, but as I turned my head in the direction the coachman had indicated with his whip, everything fell into place. The man sitting there was the Vicomte. I gave the driver a sign, and he brought the coach so close to the other one that we could talk to each other without leaving our seats. I certainly wouldn't stand up for him.

"I thought we had agreed that you wait for me at your house," I reminded him instead of a greeting.

"I know," he replied shortly. "But I didn't want to meet you there. Too many people watching…"

"Watching what?" I wanted to know with a smirk. "Do you feel the overwhelming urge to finally declare your love for me?" Now I was almost grateful that we had met here. I'd have hated to miss this last chance to taunt him.

He threw me a furious glance.

"No!" he spat. "I just didn't want to see… you and her… and everything."

Finally I understood him. He wanted to avoid a scene in which I took over all that he considered his, while he had to leave. Naturally I would have liked such a scene, but I decided to let him have things his way for once.

"Goodbye then," I called cheerfully. "Enjoy yourself in Norway and don't hurry with coming back!"

This remark earned me another furiously glance.

"Yes, goodbye!" he said. "Take good care of my family! If anything happens to them…" His voice dropped to a whisper, so that no one but me could heard it. "…I will kill you."

I merely shrugged and gave the coachman the signal to go on. Even if the Vicomte had been capable of anything more than empty threats, I wouldn't have been frightened. There was no way in which I'd let anyone harm his family. _His_ family? No, of course it was mine now. My family. I liked the sound of it, repeating it over and over in my head as we approached my new home.


	84. Chapter EightyFour

**Chapter Eighty-Four**

**September 16th 1892: **_Christine_

The children and I were still waving after Raoul when a coach appeared at the end of the street, where he had vanished one or two minutes ago. At first I thought he had turned around because he had forgotten something, but when it came closer, I realised it was not the same coach that had just left with my husband. This could only mean one thing: Erik was here.

I swallowed hard, sensing a problem approaching us: I hadn't told the children he'd come. With Raoul about to leave and a carpenter replacing the broken windows, everything had been so hectic that I hadn't found a quiet minute to talk to them about it. And now it seemed that a minute would indeed be all the time I'd get, for that was about as much as the coach would take to arrive here. My husband had told me Erik would come when he'd leave, but I'd have never thought he had meant it literally.

"Why is Papa coming back?" Philippe asked me, tugging at my sleeve. Apparently he was thinking along the same lines as I had.

"Don't you see that it's a different coach?" Antoinette interjected. "The horse pulling Papa's coach was black, and this one is brown." She gave us a triumphant smile. "Everyone could notice that."

Knowing we were heading for an argument, I interrupted them at once.

"That doesn't matter now," I said quickly, stepping between the two children and placing my hands on their shoulders. "Yes, it's a different coach, and the man in it is Uncle Erik. He'll live with us until Papa's return because they don't want us to be alone." I took a deep breath. That hadn't sounded too bad.

My son's face was lit up by a broad smile.

"He'll live with us?" he repeated. "Oh, thank you, Maman!" He flung his little arms around me. I couldn't help smiling as well. He acted as if I had invited Erik as a personal favour to him. But then, I had never doubted he'd be pleased. Antoinette, on the other hand, was a completely different matter. It was hard to tell whether she'd like it. After all, she hardly knew her brother's teacher.

"What do you think about it?" I hastily asked her, since I didn't want her to feel left out.

"Well…" she muttered. "When he comes here, does it mean that we won't go to the opera again to see him? Does it mean I won't meet the dancers again?"

"Of course not," I assured her, barely able to hide my relief. I should have known her thoughts would go into that direction. "I'm sure Uncle Erik will still go to the opera every now and then, and if you ask him nicely, he'll maybe take you with him… Oh, there he is."

During the last part of my explanations the coach had stopped at the gate, and Erik had emerged from it, carrying a suitcase. By the time I was finished speaking he had almost reached the house. Only a few steps separated him from us.

"Uncle Erik!" Philippe called. He let go of me and ran to his teacher.

"Good day, Philippe," Erik greeted him, putting down the suitcase and brushing over the boy's hair in a simple, loving gesture.

Antoinette was the next one to go to him, much more slowly than her brother. It was strange to see my little daughter, who usually was so self-assured, this hesitant. I could only guess that the things Erik had let happen at the opera when we had been there intimidated her a bit. Yet he smiled at her, encouraging her to come to him with a wave of the hand Philippe wasn't holding.

She stopped one or two steps away from them.

"Good day," she muttered quickly before blurting out: "Is it true that you'll sometimes take us to the opera?". So this was why she had been so silent before. She had been searching for the right words. Apparently she had come to the conclusion that the direct approach, which was her favourite one anyway, was the best.

I threw a brief glance at Erik to find out what he thought about it, but he was still smiling at her, his eyes sparkling in amusement.

"Good day, Mademoiselle Antoinette," he said with a polite little bow. This peculiar way of greeting her made the girl giggle, and the tension in the air vanished. "Yes, we will go to the opera, perhaps already tomorrow." Now Antoinette was smiling as well and seized his outstretched hand.

As I was still standing at the top of the stairs, I had a good view on a truly touching picture: Erik was approaching me, each of his hands held by one of the children. In this moment I knew how cruel it would have been to deny him the wish of living with us. It would be so good for him, and it would also be good for us. He needed a family, and in our family a position was vacant. Admittedly it would only be for a while, but that was better than nothing, wasn't it ?

When we were on the same level, Erik let go of the children gently and stepped forwards.

"Good day, Christine," he said softly. He seized my hand and brought it to his lips to kiss it. They lingered there a moment longer than necessary, while he was gazing into my eyes. I felt as if he were looking at my very soul, examining it from all sides. My heart was pounding wildly as I waited for him to say something special.

Yet nothing like that happened. He let my fingers slip out of his grasp, thus breaking the connection between us. Still I was slightly uneasy. If such a simple gesture that only lasted a moment could upset me like this, what would spending all night with him do with me? I forced the thought out of my mind, knowing this was not the right time for that kind of pondering.

"Good day, Erik," I gave back. "Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for taking me in," he said. "I'd have hated to know you were alone while your husband is gone."

We were both good actors. My uneasiness had vanished behind the mask of the perfect hostess, and if he was affected by the moment we had just shared, he didn't show it. Instead of making a personal comment he merely asked:

"What will we do this afternoon? Do you already have plans?".

I shook my head.

"The appointment at the seamstress' was this morning, and Antoinette doesn't have to go to her teacher either. So I thought we'd just spend the afternoon at home… unless you've scheduled a lesson for Philippe."

"Not this afternoon," he told me. "All this came as quite the surprise, and I haven't planned any lessons that can take place here yet. But the weather is so beautiful that we shouldn't stay indoors. What about going to the park? Would you like that?" he addressed the children, who nodded.

"When will we go?" my daughter asked eagerly. Her eyes were shining with excitement. In her opinion, everything was better than staying at home.

"Let me unpack my suitcase first," he answered. "I should be ready in about half an hour. In the meantime you two could go and tell Jacqueline about it."

The children nodded again and went inside, leaving Erik and me alone. I wondered whether that had been his intention.

"I'm sorry." were his first words after Antoinette and Philippe were gone. "I didn't even ask you what you think about my idea. Of course I should have done so first. I –"

"Oh, it doesn't matter," I assured him. "It's good that you have ideas what to do with the children. That's worth a lot, you know. They'll soon like you very much. Well, Philippe already does…"

"I hope they'll like me," he muttered pensively, the expression on his face very serious. "I also hope your servants will."

I gave him a smile.

"Why shouldn't they?" I asked softly. "You've more or less hand-picked them yourself. You know they are friendly people who don't like gossip, and if you're friendly to them as well, you'll surely get along."

In this moment Jacques emerged from the house.

"Good day, Monsieur," he greeted Erik stiffly. Then he nodded in my direction. "Madame." He walked past us, took the suitcase and carried it inside without another word.

I couldn't hold back a little giggle about the surprised expression on Erik's face.

"Well, it'll be harder with Jacques," I explained. "He knows Raoul since his birth, and he's very loyal to him. So you can't expect him to like you. You've probably noticed that he doesn't even like me, just because I've taken his master away from him."

"You've got to tell me more about him… and the others… and everything," he demanded.

"I thought you already know everything about everyone," I couldn't help remarking.

"Not _everything_," he stressed. "I need to know more. When we're in the park, we'll sit down at a nice, quiet spot, and you'll tell me." I smiled about his eagerness, which reminded me of my daughter. I only knew him like that when it came to his music. I'd have never thought he'd be this interested in other people.

"Yes, I'll do that," I replied. "But is a park really the right place for you at this time of day? What if someone sees you?"

"Thank you for your concern," he answered. "But I'll be fine. The park we'll go to isn't very crowded. Besides…" He straightened up. "I have to do such things. I've taken over the role of your husband, and he'd take you to the park in daylight. I'll do whatever is best for my family."

I heard his words… my family… but I didn't say anything about it. They came out so naturally that I hardly noticed they were out of place.


	85. Chapter EightyFive

**Chapter Eighty-Five**

**September 16th 1892: **_Erik_

Inwardly I rejoiced as Christine led me upstairs. So far, everything was just fine. I hadn't had problems with the children. Even Antoinette seemed to like me. The old butler didn't make me overly worried either. I had dealt with much more open hostility than the one he showed towards me. As long as I stayed friendly, we'd get along. Besides, she'd surely appreciate it if I treated him with respect.

Walking down the corridor I couldn't help being a little excited. This was a crucial moment. Would Christine take me to her bedroom right away, so that I could unpack my suitcase there and put my belongings next to hers? Or would she prefer to have a conversation about the sleeping arrangements first? I didn't doubt that her husband had told her what I wanted. I just didn't know what it was she wanted.

Yet apparently the decision was not hers to make anymore. Peering into the one room with an open door I spotted my suitcase.

"It seems that your Jacques has decided where I'll sleep," I remarked dryly.

Christine gave a soft chuckle.

"Well, from his point of view there wasn't much to decide," she explained. "We have three guestrooms: this one, the one in which our coachman Gabriel is living at the moment – he's ill you know – and another one that's right next to Raoul's and my bedroom. It's not difficult to understand why he chose this one."

I looked at her seriously. The way she was talking irritated me slightly. Maybe my assumption had been wrong, and he hadn't told her about it after all. In this case it would be quite a surprise for her now. It remained to be seen whether it would be a pleasant one, though.

"Christine… you do know where I want to sleep, don't you?" I asked her.

To my relief she nodded.

"In my bedroom," she replied in a small voice. "But I… I just don't know yet whether I can do that. How am I supposed to know how I will feel about it tonight?" I gave a little sigh. I could understand her. Yet that didn't mean I had to like her indecision. "Maybe there is another way," she went on quickly. "You could take the other guestroom, the one next to my bedroom. Then you'd be closer to me and…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "…you could come to me if I want to."

The prospect made my heartbeat speed up. So I still had a chance.

"That sounds like a good solution," I praised her.

Quickly I went inside, seized the suitcase and left the room again, before Christine could change her mind yet another time.

"I'm sorry, Jacques," I muttered under my breath. "But you're not the one making the decisions here."

I then followed her down the corridor once more, till we reached the right door.

"Here we are," she said, opening it.

I hadn't taken two steps into the room when I stepped onto the first piece of wood lying on the floor. Looking down I saw several others of different sizes. The smell of sawdust was heavy in the air, making me sneeze.

"If this is where your guests live, I don't want to see the rooms you have for visitors who are not welcome," I couldn't help remarking.

"Oh no!" Christine exclaimed. "Larisse should have cleaned the room hours ago. You know, that window is one of those that were smashed last night. We had a carpenter in the house this morning to replace them, but he had some sawing to do in order to make the windowpanes fit into the frame… Could you just ignore the mess, please?"

"I've lived in far worse places," I assured her truthfully. "So this won't bother me."

I placed the suitcase next to the bed, but decided against opening it. What I did open immediately was the window.

"I'll unpack later, when the air is a little better in here," I explained. "And in the meantime… Why don't you tell me about last night? I've already talked about it with the Vic- with your husband, but I'd like to hear your impressions."

"Impressions?" she muttered. "It was terrible. I was sleeping, and suddenly there was a loud noise which woke me up. The windows were broken. There was glass everywhere. Raoul said he had try and catch whoever had done it. So he left. I was so scared…" She shivered from the memory.

"He had to go and see who was there," I replied automatically. "It was better than staying in bed and waiting what would happen next." Since when was I defending the Vicomte? It was probably the knowledge that maybe I'd have to do the same which made me act like that.

At least it seemed to comfort Christine.

"You're probably right," she whispered. "Still… it wasn't easy for me. I felt so lonely…"

Ever since she had started speaking I had fought the urge to embrace her, but now it overwhelmed me. She needed me.

"I will protect you," I promised her. "You won't feel lonely again."

I walked over to her and stretched out my arms invitingly. Yet she didn't press her warm small body against me like I had imagined it. On the contrary: She turned around and left the room.

"The air in there is truly very bad," she called over her shoulder. "I'll show you the rest of the house now, and you can unpack later."

My arms sank down like stones hitting the bottom of a pond. She hadn't embraced me. Had we already drifted so far apart that she didn't even show me such tiny signs of affection? Or had I intimidated her in any way? But I had even defended her husband, for Heaven's sake!

"Aren't you coming, Erik?" Her voice interrupted my momentary pondering.

"I'll be right there," I replied. Once more I went to the window, using a piece of wood to keep it open. Then I walked out of the room as well, without giving it a backward glance. If Christine continued treating me like that, I'd see more than enough of it in the next days anyway.

She waited for me outside.

"You've already been on the ground floor a couple of times, so I guess we can start right here, on the first floor," she said. Her voice sounded hectic, and she spoke more quickly than usual. It was as if she didn't want as much as a second of silence to come up. "This is one of the guestrooms, but you already know that. Next to it is Raoul's and my bedroom, and on the other side there's Philippe's room. It has an additional chamber for a maid to sleep in, in case he has one of his nightmares. You know, the kind that makes him wake up in the middle of the night and…"

I followed her from door to door, listening politely. It was not as if the pieces of information she gave me were news to me. Most of them I already knew. Still I didn't interrupt her once. I didn't dare interrupt her. As long as she was talking about the house, she'd say nothing about us. Normally I'd have encouraged her to express her feelings, but today I was too worried she might say something… final.

After a few minutes we reached the end of the corridor. By now, my head was filled with more or less useful facts, for I had positively forced myself to listen all the time. It had kept me from thinking about anything else.

"So, now we're finished. Maybe that was a little too much to take in," Christine admitted with an apologetic smile, not meeting my eye. "But I'm sure you'll soon find your way in the house. It's not that big, after all. Besides, it's not tragic if you open a wrong door every now and then. We don't have any torture chambers here." She gave a slight laugh.

"I don't think I'll open a wrong door," I told her. "You see, even though I've never been here myself, I know where the rooms are. Jacqueline was very helpful in this respect. I even made her draw pictures."

"Then why didn't you stop me?" she asked blankly.

"The talking seemed to be good for you," I answered.

She considered my reply for a moment, then she said:

"Look, Erik, about what happened in your room… or rather, about what did not happen – ".

"I don't want to talk about it at the moment," I said flatly. The fact that she had used the words ´your room´, as if everything about that topic was already settled, made me even more irritated.

"But –"

This time it were the children who interrupted her as they came running towards us, followed by Jacqueline.

"Can we go now?" Antoinette asked. "We're ready." It was true: They were dressed for going out. The maid even had a parasol under her arm.

"Give your Maman one minute for fetching her hat and handbag. Then we can go," I replied quickly. Christine threw me a sideways glance, but chose not to argue.

A little while later we were sitting in the coach. It was a pretty, open vehicle with two benches for the passengers. My beloved had taken a seat between her children on the front bench, which left me to sit next to the maid on the other one. Neither of us seemed particularly happy about the arrangement. Except for the girl, who apparently could talk all the time, nobody was speaking. The silence between Christine and me had spread over to Jacqueline and Philippe, and the old butler didn't seem to be very talkative anyway.

We had just reached the gate when the coach stopped all of a sudden.

"What's going on?" I wanted to know, feeling horribly reminded of my journey here. Was there another person who wanted to talk to me?

"I can't go on, Monsieur," Jacques replied. "The gate is… blocked."

Christine inhaled sharply.

"Oh God!" she breathed. "Where do all those people come from?"


	86. Chapter EightySix

**Chapter Eighty-Six**

**September 16th 1892: **_Erik_

It was an excellent question, yet one I found myself unable to answer. Standing up from my seat I could see what Christine had seen moments before: beggars. Dozens of them, in ragged clothes and with dirty faces, holding the iron gate in a firm grip with the callous fingers and peering inside hungrily, as if they believed they'd find the solution to all their problems there.

This led to a question that was just as important as the first one: What did they want here? Were they after money? Usually beggars didn't come to the doors in such big groups. And why didn't they let us pass? Surely they couldn't expect us to give them money if they kept annoying us, could they?

I had just leaned forwards to discuss the situation with Christine when two anxious little faces reminded me of the fact that we were not alone in the coach. All three persons sitting on the front bench had turned around, and they were all pale.

"Who are those people?" Antoinette asked in a high-pitched voice. I was used to her always speaking first by now. Yet the trembling of her voice was new, and it made me aware of how much the children were affected by the situation.

"They're beggars, ma petite," I explained with a kind smile. "They are poor people who don't have a home to live in or work. So they come to other people's doors to ask them for money or food."

"I've seen beggars at our door," the girl told me. "Usually they are friendly. Those people aren't friendly." She was right. The beggars had a grim expression on their faces, unlike the ones I knew from the streets, who always tried to appear friendly and grateful for the little they had.

I exchanged a glance with Christine and nodded slightly, trying to tell her without words that we needed to talk. She nodded as well and said:

"I'm sure they'll let us pass in a moment, once we've found out what they want. In the meantime Jacqueline will tell you a fairytale, so that you won't grow bored.".

The coach swayed a little as the two women swapped seats. Then Christine sat next to me.

"Do you often give money to beggars?" I wanted to know in a low voice.

"Sometimes," she replied. "But usually they don't come by the dozen… Do you think I have anything to do with it?" She looked at me indignantly.

"No," I hastened to say. "It's just strange. Your house is hardly the richest-looking in the neighbourhood. So why are they standing here of all places?"

"Maybe they want to rob us," she whispered anxiously.

I shook my head.

"That's not very likely," I assured her. "They haven't come any closer yet. If they wanted to, they could easily climb over the gate, but they're just standing there. I don't think they're dangerous."

Her hand was lying on the seat between us, and I tried to pat it reassuringly, only to have it snatched away from me. I gave a little sigh. Just when I had forgotten it for a few moments… Didn't I already have enough problems without that personal one?

I pulled myself together. The subject of how to get the beggars away from the gate was more important than anything else now. The children seemed to have lost some of their fear while listening to the fairytale, but I could still see them moving around in their seats and casting nervous glances at the crowd. When I noticed Philippe's little hand grab Jacqueline's, I knew I had to act immediately. Nobody was allowed to scare my boy.

"I'll go and talk to them," I announced.

Christine looked at me as if I had gone insane.

"You cannot do that," she said. "What if they hurt you?"

"Would you care if they did?" I gave back coldly. Then I left the coach quickly, before she could hold me back. I wasn't sure whether she'd have tried to do so, though.

"Where are you going, Uncle Erik?" Philippe asked as I walked past him.

"I'll try to find out what the beggars want," I answered. "Maybe they're just searching for someone, and I can help them."

"Be careful!" the maid called. I merely nodded. I'd be careful, yes. But sometimes that wasn't enough.

To my surprise, even the butler addressed me.

"It would be most helpful if you could remove those people, Monsieur," he said. "The horse is getting nervous because it's not allowed to move. I don't know for how much longer I'll be able to hold it back."

I noticed he held the reins so tightly in his hands that his knuckles had turned white. He should better wear gloves next time.

"I'll see what I can do," I promised. Passing the mare I patted her neck soothingly. She was indeed nervous, stepping from one hoof onto the other and neighing softly.

So there were five people and one horse relying on me to improve their situation now. It was good that I wasn't one to collapse under pressure. Walking the few steps to the gate as casually as possible I told myself firmly that this was all part of my task. I had to protect the family. That was my only reason for being here.

"Good day, Monsieur," I addressed the beggar who was standing closest to me on the other side of the gate. The man, who was tall and slim and wore a particularly ugly green hat, threw me a glance that reminded me of the way Christine had looked at me when I had told her what I was up to. Apparently he thought that anyone who called him ´Monsieur´ was out of their right mind.

"What do you want?" he hissed. The other people stopped their conversations and eyed us curiously.

"I just want to talk to you," I replied in a friendly voice.

He sneered at me.

"If you want something, come out here and talk to me from man to man," he said. "Don't hide in there like a child."

I only had a moment to decide. There weren't a lot of possibilities anyway. I wanted to talk, so I had to go out there. Otherwise the situation wouldn't change, at least not for the better. The only thing that could happen was that my refusal made the beggars angry, so that they'd begin to throw stones at the coach or something similarly dangerous. No, I didn't have any choice.

So I opened the smaller part of the gate, the one through which only persons could pass, and slipped through it quickly, closing it again before someone else felt like visiting the other side. Then I stood in front of the man who had spoken to me.

"That's better," he commented. "Now how can I help you, Monsieur?" In this moment I knew I had found an almost worthy opponent. His sarcasm was nearly as good as my own.

"You'd help me very much if you and your friends could go somewhere else," I answered. "We want to pass the gate with our coach, but that's impossible as long as you're standing in the way." I felt rather ridiculous, explaining things they already knew very well.

"No," the man said flatly.

"No," some of the beggars echoed, laughing as they formed a circle around us.

"We like it here," one of them called, earning even more laughter.

I started feeling very uncomfortable. So far I hadn't achieved anything. The beggars were still as hostile as at the beginning, if not more.

"Actually this place isn't very nice," I told them, growing a little desperate. "It has all that bright sunlight… Why don't you go and stand somewhere in the shadows of a few trees? That would be far better…" Even while I was speaking, I knew it was in vain.

"Oh, you're worried about us?" the man exclaimed. "How touching!" With surprising speed he closed the space between us and seized me by the collar of my jacket. "Go now!" he snarled. "Go and tell your little friends there will be no lovely coach ride today! We won't go anywhere!" Then he let go of me so abruptly that I staggered slightly.

Fury welled up inside me. My first impulse was to grab my Lasso and show that arrogant man I wouldn't let myself be treated like that. Yet as my hand moved under my cloak, my gaze fell on the coach. We were in full view of the children. What would my little Philippe say if he saw me teach the man a lesson? Besides, I wasn't sure how many of the other people I could fight as well. I was not as young as I had once been.

Taking deep breaths in order to calm down I quickly guessed the man's age. He seemed to be about fifty years old, just right for the plan that was forming in my mind. It wouldn't have worked if he had been much younger.

I lifted my head, so that the brim of my fedora was no longer plunging half of my face into shadows. The mask was shining in the sunlight.

"Does this mask tell you anything about who I am?" I asked him in a low voice. "You've got to think back about ten years…"

He inhaled sharply. It was obvious that he hadn't noticed it before; he had been too busy insulting me. With a certain satisfaction I watched his face grow pale.

"The Opera Ghost," he breathed.

"So you know me," I stated. "Then you also know what I've done with people who stood in my way. I haven't done it in a while, but I could very well start again. And look around you… at the moment you're standing in my way." Waiting for his reaction I heard my name wander through the rows of people, spoken with awe and fear. It was a pleasant feeling.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur," he said. This time his politeness wasn't meant sarcastically. "We would have left right away, but we've been paid for staying here."

"Someone paid you?" I asked incredulously.

Many people in the crowd nodded eagerly.

"Yes," he replied. "A young man came to us in the street and gave each of us five Francs. We should come to this address and block the gate for a couple of hours."

I tried my best not to gape at him open-mouthed. This gave the situation a completely new meaning. It wasn't just a meeting of beggars at a badly-chosen spot. In a way, it was another attack.

"What did the man look like?" I wanted to know, but the answers were disappointing. Not a single person could describe him. They had been far more interested in the money than in the man giving it to them.

"Of course we'll leave now," the beggar assured me hastily.

"No, wait," I said. "Take this." I grabbed my purse and thrust a few banknotes into his hand. "Those are three hundred Francs. If that man ever returns to you and asks you to do something, that'll help you remember where your loyalties are. I want you to come straight here and inform me about it. Oh, and something more personal…" I leaned closer to him. "If you touch me one more time, you'll die a very painful death." He gulped, nodded and went back to the others.

Within minutes the street was empty, and I opened the gate at last.

"Now we can pass," I announced. "I've helped those people, and they left." Quickly I turned around as the children burst into applause. They mustn't see me blush.


	87. Chapter EightySeven

**Chapter Eighty-Seven**

**September 16th 1892: **_Erik_

Our journey to the park was pleasantly uneventful. There was a lot of merry chatting on the front bench. Of course it was Antoinette who was doing most of the talking. That girl started fascinating me. I had always assumed the ability to talk that much only developed at a much later age, but apparently I had been wrong. Jacqueline and Philippe had difficulties in squeezing a sentence in between every now and then. Yet as long as my boy was happy, I wouldn't try to change anything about the situation.

I had a lot of time to observe all that, for the mood in the part of the coach where I was sitting was about as cheerful as on a funeral. Not a single word was exchanged between Christine and me. She looked as if she'd have loved to swap seats with the maid again, yet without even knowing it Jacques had thwarted that plan. He had let the horse go as soon as the gate had been open, so that I had had to jump onto the coach. There was no way in which the two women with their long skirts could have swapped seats during the journey, and asking the butler to stop again would have drawn too much attention to the fact that she didn't want to sit next to me.

So she was stuck here, staring outside, probably wishing she were somewhere else. Sometimes I threw her a sideways glance, only to look away when I thought she was about to turn her head into my direction. It was an utterly ridiculous situation. We had shared so much in the last few weeks, we had been so close. And now we were back in the stage in which I was only allowed to watch her, the way I had watched her from behind the mirror more than ten years ago.

What had I done to deserve this? The only explanation I could find was that my wish to sleep in her bed had been too much. But she had to know that it didn't mean any further… obligations for her. I just wanted to feel the warmth of her body next to mine, her sweet breath on my skin… and at the moment it seemed as if I wouldn't even get that. I could practically see myself lying in the guestroom, separated from my beloved by just one wall and yet so far away from her.

That wall already existed between us, though. It was invisible, but I could feel it, hard and cold and impenetrable. Even if I had talked to Christine, I doubted she'd have heard it. So I spent most of the time looking around as well, listening a little to the others. Their conversation was far from exciting, but it was better than this all-consuming silence.

I suppressed a sigh of relief when we finally reached the park and said goodbye to Jacques, who'd fetch us in a few hours' time. Just like I had predicted, the paths were almost empty. So were the large green meadows. We started walking around in one big group, but Antoinette immediately grew bored.

"Can't Philippe and I go and play something?" she asked.

"Of course," her mother replied. "You can play on this meadow, and Erik and I will look for a nice bench to sit on." I was amazed that she even remembered that promise.

"I'll look after them," Jacqueline said.

"Come, Philippe," the girl called, pulling her brother away from us. The maid followed them.

For a while Christine and I watched them silently. The children were running across the meadow, and Jacqueline had sat down under the parasol and watched them as well. It was a very peaceful picture, full of joy. The contrast to us couldn't have been more striking. I wondered whether she realised it, too.

"Didn't we want to talk?" I reminded her matter-of-factly after a few minutes, unwilling to show how much she had hurt my feelings. Cold. I had to become as cold as the wall between us.

"What? Oh yes…" she muttered. "Talk… yes… Where do you want to go?"

I led her to the nearest bench, which stood under a group of trees. It was a lovely spot – too bad it was wasted on someone who couldn't appreciate its beauty at the moment.

We sat down so far away from each other that a third person could have easily sat between us. Again, her hand was lying on the bench, yet this time I made no attempt to seize it. One rejection in that respect was enough for me.

"So… you wanted to know more about the servants?" Christine asked.

"Later!" I answered before I could hold myself back. "First I'd like to know why you're treating me like an outcast all of a sudden. What have I done?" I had forgotten all about being cold. I wanted to destroy the wall, not add a few new bricks.

"I'm not treating you any differently than usual," she protested. Wordlessly, I leaned over to touch her arm. She shrunk back, as if my hand were poisonous.

"See?" I muttered. "If I remember correctly, I was still allowed to touch you the last time we met. And now you're acting as if I had a contagious disease. What's wrong with me, Christine? Why can't I embrace you?"

When I uttered the word ´embrace´, something seemed to change for her, though I wasn't sure what it was. The expression on her face grew softer, more understanding. Then she turned around to look at me… _really_ look at me.

"Nothing is wrong with you," she told me firmly. "It's just… it's just… when we embrace, the temptation could become too strong." She didn't go on, so I assumed she had said all that she wanted to. I nodded.

"Yes," I commented. "Yes, that's –" I never finished the sentence, for in this moment the children approached us. To my horror I noticed Philippe was limping slightly. He was the one to reach us first.

"Maman! Uncle Erik!" he wailed in a voice that made me forget all about embraces and temptations at once. "Antoinette made me trip over her leg. Look!" He stepped onto the bench with his foot and pushed up his trousers, so that we could examine his knee. It was indeed bleeding.

Christine and I looked at each other and started rummaging in our pockets. By the time we had found our handkerchiefs the girl had arrived at the bench as well.

"I didn't do anything!" she called. "Philippe tripped over my leg, but that wasn't my fault. He just didn't look where he was going!"

"Yes, I did," he contradicted her. "You were standing behind that bush, and when I came to search for you, you stretched out your leg!"

"No, I –"

"That's enough," Christine said sternly. The children were silent at once. "Not a single problem gets solved by shouting. We'll clean this wound now, and then we'll talk about what happened."

In this moment Jacqueline reached us, too.

"What has happened?" she asked. "They were playing behind me for a few seconds, and when I turned around to look why they were so quiet, they were running away." Spotting Philippe's knee she inhaled sharply. "Oh my God," she breathed. "I'm so sorry. I should have paid more attention."

"It's not your fault," Christine assured her. "Every child gets hurt every now and then."

"Besides," I added. "It's not very serious. Not even the trousers are torn."

We three adults cleaned the wound, while Antoinette stood next to the bench, sulking because she wasn't in the centre of attention. Yet we soon realised that three people were too many for the task We kept getting in each other's way. So I simply held my boy's hand, muttering words of comfort every time he winced and wincing in sympathy. Fortunately the whole process didn't last very long. After just a few minutes he pulled down the trouser leg again and took a few steps.

"It hardly hurts anymore," he declared, making all of us smile.

"Do you think you can continue playing or would you rather go home?" I asked him. Yet it was Antoinette who replied.

"I don't want to go home," she said. "It's so boring there. Please don't make us! I'll even apologise." She seized her surprised brother's hand and shook it so forcefully that his whole arms vibrated. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "Though it really wasn't my fault that you… Anyway, I'm sorry. Can we go and play again?"

"Only when I can be the one hiding now," Philippe answered with a sly smile. I couldn't help being proud of him. That was my boy.

She nodded, and they left us. Jacqueline stood up from the bench and walked after them.

"They're lovely children," I remarked.

"Yes, they are," she agreed. "Well, most of them time…" We chuckled, yet when our eyes met, we grew serious again. There was no use attempting a normal conversation as long as the one we had had before wasn't finished. So I wanted to do that as quickly as possible, before I wouldn't dare do it anymore.

"I understand what you've said before," I told her in a soft voice. She nodded, thus acknowledging she knew what I was talking about. "You're afraid of what I might do. But I can assure you I'll hold myself back. I won't think there'll be more between us, just because we touch or embrace each other. I promise I won't give in to the temptation."

My words had clearly not had the desired effect. When I looked at her, her eyes were wide.

"I wasn't talking about you," she whispered. "I meant that the temptation could become too strong for _me_…"


	88. Chapter EightyEight

**Chapter Eighty-Eight**

**September 16th 1892:** _Christine_

Erik's only reaction was a surprised "Oh". I had probably shocked him so much that he couldn't say anything else. Yet of course that hadn't been my intention, not at all. On the contrary: If I had known he'd interpret my words like that, I'd have put it differently. I had thought it was clear that I was talking about me.

I started apologising almost before I knew what I was doing.

"I didn't mean to startle you," I said, although I was aware that ´startle´ probably was an understatement. "But you must know that I'd never talk about you in such a disrespectful way. Of course you can control yourself and your urges… unlike me." I gazed at the ground intently.

"That's not true," he contradicted me gently. "There were many situations in which something could have happened between us, but you never gave in to your wishes… though I naturally can't be sure what your wishes were at that time. Anyway, we only kissed. That's nothing you have to be ashamed of." His voice was soft and soothing, just like it had sounded when he had comforted Philippe. It made me feel so much better that I dared look up again.

Erik gave me a smile.

""I'm not ashamed," I told him. "I'm frightened. What if I do give in to the temptation? You have no idea how hard it is to resist you."

I had expected understanding, yet what I got was laughter. I glared at him. Did he really think such a problem funny? Seeing the expression on my face he tried to become serious again.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm just not used to being called ´hard to resist´. ´Hard to avoid´ - that's what I've heard a couple of times at the opera." He chuckled again. I couldn't help smiling as well.

"Maybe it is a little funny," I admitted. "But can't you understand my fear? I guess it's all very easy for you men. Raoul said that I shouldn't tell him if you and I make love, and you just laugh about everything." I didn't even notice my voice growing louder and more accusing. Being angry was much better than being afraid. Maybe it would be easier to cope with that new emotion.

"Christine, you have to calm down… please," Erik pleaded. "If you go on talking like that, the children and Jacqueline will hear you and wonder whether something happened. So you can either be a little more quiet, or we'll have to continue this conversation on a different bench."

His sensibility was rather effective. As much as I loved my children, I didn't want to explain my situation to them. Things were complicated enough the way they were.

Silently I shook my head. I wanted to stay here.

"I'd never laugh about your problems," he told me after a few moments. "I know how hard it can be to control oneself. But what do you think I'm there for?"

"You?" I repeated blankly.

"Well, you can hardly make love to me without my consent," he pointed out. "I'd stop you at once if I noticed you didn't really want it, but were just controlled by your urges. And believe me, I'd know the difference."

"Thank you," I whispered.

"But what did you say about the Vicomte before?" he asked. "Did that really happen or were you just a little upset?"

I knew immediately what he was referring to.

"Yes, it happened," I replied. "Raoul told me that if we made love, he didn't want to know it. I'm still not sure what you think about it, though…" My voice trailed off as I recalled the confusion his words had caused in my heart.

If Erik was pleased or irritated about that revelation, he didn't show it.

"Do you have any idea why he said that?" he wanted to know.

"I even have several ideas," I answered with a sigh. I had spent quite a while thinking about it. "Perhaps he trusts me so much that he assumes nothing will happen anyway. That would be a good sign for our relationship, of course. But it could also mean he cares so little about me that it doesn't matter whether I make love to another man."

"Or it could mean that he's just as afraid as you are," he interjected. "He's afraid that you could make love to another man, so he prefers not to know it. Besides, he's even more afraid of losing you for good. He told me so himself."

"He told _you_?" I asked incredulously. I'd have never believed that Raoul would tell Erik anything he didn't have to, especially not about his feelings.

He nodded.

"That's why he didn't like the idea of me living in your house," he explained. "He's afraid you might get used to me and finally like me better than him."

"But that's – " I had been about to say ´absurd´, but stopped myself as I realised it would have been an insult. Moreover, it wasn't that absurd after all. It sounded rather… logical. "That's possible," I muttered to myself.

Unfortunately I had forgotten Erik's excellent hearing.

"It is?" he wanted to know.

"Many things are possible," I hastened to say. "But let's not talk about that topic now." I sensed that I had to stop him before he started asking questions about how he could make me like him more than my husband. I didn't want him to dream of something that might never happen. "So Raoul's afraid, and I'm afraid, too," I stated, mainly to change the subject. "It seems that you're the only fearless person around then."

"You have no idea," he said quietly. "I'm afraid of so many things, of losing you, of never having you at all…"

"You've got me now," I reminded him. "Perhaps we should forget about the future and focus on the present. It's far less frightening."

He threw me a long, sad glance.

"To me, the present is frightening enough," he murmured. "I don't even dare take your hand anymore."

"I do," I said simply.

My heartbeat sped up as I approached his hand, which was lying on his leg. ´Don't be stupid!´ I told myself. ´You've held his hand a thousand times. There's no need for becoming anxious now.´ Still I couldn't help feeling as if it were the very first time that this was happening. My arm moved closer inch by tentative inch. Finally my fingertips brushed over the back of his hand.

It was only then that I noticed he had taken off his gloves while examining Philippe's knee and hadn't put them on again. The effect of my skin on his was overwhelming. I wouldn't have believed that such a little touch could be this wonderful. I had been deprived of being close to him far too long. The realisation that I had been responsible for the deprivation only made matters worse. I was desperate to touch him, no matter what the consequences might be.

Instead of taking his hand I practically threw myself into his arms, which he stretched out just in time. It was like coming home. I wrapped my arms around him tightly, just in case he'd ever think about letting go of me. Yet apparently there was no danger of him doing that. One of his hands pressed me against his chest, while the other one sneaked into his hair. Almost automatically my lips found his.

The sensations rushing through my body were nearly too intense for me to bear. They made my blood boil and my breath quicken. Erik's passion seemed to match mine, for me kissed me as if he hadn't done so for a century. His hands were stroking my hair and my back, and his tongue caressed mine. For a few moments the world was perfect.

Admittedly there was a little voice in my head, telling me this had to stop. After all, it was possible that someone saw us. It was even possible that Jacqueline and the children saw us. That was a risk we couldn't rule out. And what would we say to them? I didn't care. The kiss was the only thing that mattered to me. I felt far too good to waste my time with pondering.

I was brought back to earth abruptly when he pushed me away from him with so much power that I nearly landed on the ground. We stared at each other, breathing hard. Erik was the first one to regain the ability to speak.

"I'm even more pathetic than I thought," he muttered grimly. "A few minutes ago I was still telling you about self-control and the importance of holding oneself back, and at the first occasion I forget all about it and give in to my urges. And I actually believed I could sleep next to you! The moment you'd touch me I'd lie on top of you! No, I can't do all this…"

With these words he jumped up and walked away.

"What are you doing?" I called after him. I couldn't' believe that he just left me alone after such a kiss.

He slowed down a little.

"I'm going for a walk," he replied. "There are many things I have to think about. Don't worry – I'll be back before the coach arrives." Then he marched off.

I sat on the bench for what felt like hours, staring into space as I desperately tried to take in what had happened.


	89. Chapter EightyNine

**Chapter Eighty-Nine**

**September 16th 1892: **_Erik_

The interesting thing about going for a walk was that one didn't necessarily have to think much while doing it. The park wasn't big enough to lose one's way in it, so I didn't have to pay attention to where I was going. Almost automatically I avoided the area where the others were. I kept walking and walking, forcing myself to think nothing but ´The birds are singing nicely today.´ and ´Oh, what lovely flowers.´. I couldn't bear thinking about anything else, even though I had told Christine the opposite.

Yet unfortunately I didn't manage to stay in that state for a very long time. I knew there were people whose thoughts remained on that superficial level for all their lives, but my mind was yearning for a good pondering, no matter how painful it was. It wanted to analyse a problem, to break it up into little pieces and put it together again, so that it would make more sense than before. I sighed as I pushed the last thought about flowers out of my head and gave in to my mind's wish. Sometimes I hated my own brilliance.

To the logical part of my mind, the whole situation was fairly simple: I wanted her. She wanted me. We wanted each other. So we'd just make love and be happy with it. That part of me didn't bother thinking about anything but the bare facts. Emotions were unwanted, for they distracted from finding an easy solution as quickly as possible.

Yet while it was all very well for my mind to try and keep my feelings out of it on a theoretical basis, I couldn't do the same in the real world. Feelings existed, and I couldn't just ignore them and hope they might go away. So why not use a completely emotional approach? It was worth a try. I stopped walking at a secluded spot between some trees, closed my eyes and focused on my emotions.

I loved Christine. I loved her more than anyone else in the world. That feeling had stayed with me over the years, though I hadn't even been able to talk to her. Now it was stronger than ever because I knew that maybe she returned it, but even if she didn't, it would always be there. To me, love had always been something eternal.

And to her? Did she even love me? No one knew the answer, possibly not even Christine herself. Sometimes she acted as if she did, and sometimes she acted as if she didn't. Her signs weren't clear, not even to someone like me, who had watched her and studied the way she reacted for years. It was slowly driving me insane, but I was also aware that forcing a decisions out of her wouldn't have got any results either. After all, we had already tried that, and things were still the way they had been, maybe even worse.

I opened my eyes again, realising the emotional approach wasn't working either. How could I find a solution when half of the things I needed to know were just guesswork? In order to find an answer in that way, I'd have had to open her head and search all her thoughts to know what exactly she was feeling. And perhaps not even that would have worked. I wondered whether I was slowly getting just as confused as she was.

Christine was not the only one who had become different over the years. I had changed as well. If she had come to me and asked me to make love to her ten years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated long. I'd have laughed at anyone telling me to consider the consequences carefully. Yet when she had really come to me, I had considered the consequences myself. That was why I had said no.

I hadn't only become older, but also more thoughtful. I wasn't sure whether that was something good, though. Admittedly I'd have got only a few moments of bliss if I had given in to her. Yet that would have been better than nothing, wouldn't it? Of course not. My guilty conscience would have tormented me mercilessly afterwards. And knowing that Christine would have gone through the same… no, it was better the way it had happened.

But what did this conclusion tell me about the future? What would I do if she came to me tonight and made the same offer as two nights before? I wanted to make love to her. I wanted it so much that I could feel the wish in every part of me. It seemed to rush through my body like something poured into my very blood.

I mustn't do it, even if it hadn't been for my guilty conscience. What I had told Christine that night was still true: I wanted all of her, not only her body. Yet if I had her body once, I'd try to get the rest as well. I didn't think I'd sink that low as to abduct her a second time, but I'd search for another way of having her and wouldn't rest until I found one. It wouldn't be over after one night.

Yes, I had to reject her, no matter how hard it would be. It would be best for both of us. Still I couldn't help wondering if it wouldn't have been better not to know that she wanted me, too. Yet I refused to believe that. This knowledge would help me ease the pain that turned my heart to ice in lonely nights. At least I could have had her.

By the time I had come to that little comforting conclusion I realised that I had to go back. A glance on my pocket watch told me Jacques would wait for us at the gate in less than half an hour, and I was still quite far away from the place where I could find the others. So I had to hurry up. I marched down the path I had come from, glad that I possessed a rather good sense of direction.

Soon I spotted them. Christine was still sitting on the bench. She seemed to have hardly moved since I had left her. Her face was a little paler than usual. At once pity welled up inside me. I longed for taking her into my arms and telling her I'd do whatever she wanted, if only to make her happy. Yet for once, reason defeated my emotions. Instead of approaching her, I went over to the children.

Philippe saw me immediately.

"Uncle Erik!" he called. "Will you play with us?"

"I'm afraid that's not possible," I told him with a shrug. "You know, it's time to go."

"Oh no…" the children groaned. No matter how different they were, they agreed on the subject of leaving: They didn't want to. Suddenly I was confronted with two sad little faces and two trembling bottom lips. I felt rather helpless. What was I supposed to do? It was hard enough to deal with my boy alone when he was in this mood.

Fortunately Jacqueline came to help me.

"M.Erik is right," she said in a gentle, but firm voice. "We mustn't let Jacques wait. He could become all sullen." Secretly I wondered how the butler could become any more sullen than he already was, but I didn't utter my thought. I didn't want to be a bad example for the children. "Look. There's your mother coming as well," the maid added.

Christine must have seen me and decided to check why I had returned. She threw me a sideways glance that spoke of how much I had hurt her feelings by not coming to her first, and I had to fight back my guilty conscience.

"We have to go," I told her simply.

She merely nodded.

"Why don't Antoinette, Philippe and you already go?" she then suggested to Jacqueline. "Erik and I will be with you in a minute."

The maid took the children's hands, and they left.

I pulled the parasol out of the ground, glad about having a reason not to look at her directly.

"Erik, I've done some thinking," she told me, her voice trembling slightly. "I… I want you to sleep in my bed tonight. I think I'll be able to handle the consequences. So we could just wait and see what happens…"

I was so surprised that the parasol fell out of my hands. I hadn't expected such a reply. Yet when I looked up at her, I saw her huge child-like eyes and knew I had to say what was right.

"I've also done some thinking," I said. "I'm almost sure that I wouldn't be able to handle the consequences, and I doubt it would be any different for you. I don't want either of us to get hurt. So I decided to sleep in the guestroom. I'm… sorry."

With these words I hurried to catch up with the others and seized Philippe's other hand. It was warm in mine, but I could still feel Christine's icy stare in my back.


	90. Chapter Ninety

**Chapter Ninety**

**September 16th 1892: **_Erik_

There were many bad things one could say about me, and I knew that. Yet I had never considered myself a coward. I was someone who faced his problems and didn't run away from them. Now it was different. Admittedly I had told Christine openly to which conclusion I had come, but afterwards I had run away. I simply hadn't wanted to talk about it, listen to her arguments and find new ones contradicting them. It had been hard enough to make a decision on my own.

Yes, I was a coward. How else could it be explained that I chose a seat between the children on the journey back, letting Christine murder me with her glances from behind? It was strange, really: A few hours ago we had sat next to each other, and she hadn't been happy about it. Now we were not sitting next to each other, and she wasn't happy either. Sometimes women were comlipcated.

Yet despite my negative thoughts about my beloved, I enjoyed the conversation with Antoinette and Philippe. If I had had children of my own, I'd have wanted them to be exactly like those two. Now that I was there instead of the maid, the girl didn't talk quite as much as before. She was a little reserved, as if she wasn't sure what I'd do. I often saw her cast glances at my mask. Inwardly I sighed. I knew that sooner or later I'd have to tell them why I was wearing it, but I wasn't looking forward to it.

Unlike his sister, Philippe was becoming more lively by the minute, talking and laughing with us. He was often like that when we were alone at the opera, but it was interesting to see him reveal this part of his personality when other people were around. If Christine had been in a better mood, I'd have pointed it out to her. Yet at the moment I was the only one to enjoy it.

"Will we have any lessons today?" he was just asking me.

I shrugged.

"I haven't thought about it yet," I replied. "But I doubt there'll be enough time. We'll come home, have dinner, and then it'll almost be time for bed. You go to bed at eight o'clock, don't you?" The children nodded. "We could just… Would the two of you like to sing a little with me?" I wanted to know. "I could accompany you on the piano."

The boy's eyes grew bright with excitement.

"I would like that," he told me. I had expected that answer. I hadn't given him many singing lessons so far, but I knew he was rather gifted. I was very glad that I had remembered the piano that stood in the small room next to the living room.

Antoinette, however, didn't seem to be as enthusiastic as her brother.

"I haven't sung very often," she said in an unusually small voice. "My teacher doesn't like music. What if I can't do it properly? Will you still take me to the opera tomorrow?"

"Of course I will," I assured her. "It won't be a lesson, just a nice way of spending the evening. It doesn't matter whether you've sung before. The song I'm thinking of is very simple anyway." Vaguely I wondered whether Christine was listening to us talking about singing. I couldn't possibly ask her. But then, I'd find out the answer soon enough.

By the time we reached the house, dinner was indeed ready. I could smell it the moment I opened the door and was surprised to find that I was hungry. The conversations with Christine and all the pondering I had done in between had cost me a lot of strength. A nice hot meal would be very good for me now.

I watched everyone take their usual seats at the table in the dining room. Jacqueline was sitting there as well, for she helped the children with their food, whereas the cook and the butler ate in the kitchen. At last just one chair was empty. It was the one at the small side of the table. And that was where I sat down. Christine threw me an astonished glance, but I merely shrugged. This was at least one part of the contract that was easy to keep: I was sitting on the Vicomte's chair, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

It was a good seat. I could see everybody, and they could see me. Mme.Gardé, the cook, filled our plates and left again to enjoy her own meal. I started eating, and so did the others. Nobody spoke during the meal, partly because it would have been impolite, and partly because the food was so delicious that everyone wanted to eat it as quickly as possible. At least it was like that for me. After years of cooking for myself I enjoyed this carefully prepared meal very much. Of course I could have eaten in restaurants every day, but I didn't like the way people looked at me excitedly, as if I were about to attack the waiter or murder the cook for having made the soup too salty.

When we were finished eating, we left the dining room and went to the music room right away. Once more, Jacqueline was responsible for the fact that I knew it existed According to her, the Vicomte had equipped it with a piano and a few other musical instruments, so that his wife could continue singing, even though she no longer was at the opera. I had always thought it a good idea; it was hard to believe that it had come from the Vicomte. Yet Christine had never even entered the room.

It seemed that this wasn't about to change today.

"I'll stay here and read," she announced when we crossed the living room. The music room culd only be entered through a door here. "I'm not in the mood for music."

´You never are in the mood for music these days,´ I thought, but didn't say anything. I just led the others through the door, yet I didn't close it. Maybe she'd at least listen to us.

To my surprise the room wasn't dark and dusty like I had expected. When I lit several lamps, I saw that it was rather nicely furnished, with thick plush sofas and low tables made of dark wood. It was clear that the Vicomte had spent a lot of money on this room. It was a pity that Christine had never seen it. Perhaps this would be different once she'd take singing lessons again.

I sat down at the piano and tried a few keys, only to find it well-tuned. Asking the maid about it I earned a wistful smile.

"The Comte has it done every year," she told me. "He doesn't give up hope that one day they'll play together."

"He plays a musical instrument?" I wanted to know, trying not to sound as astonished as I felt.

"Yes, he plays the violin," she replied. "At least he did so as a child. He once told me about it."

Now I understood a little better why this room existed.

I waved at the children to come to me and made them do a few exercises to warm up their voices, realising I wouldn't have problems with teaching them the song I had in mind. It was not too difficult for them. Taking a piece of paper and a pen from the piano I wrote down the lyrics. Fortunately I had played the song so often that I knew it by heart.

Having played the melody a couple of time I let the children hum it before we started with the single phrases. I made sure they understood all the words, for I wanted them to know what they were singing. Jacqueline had sat down on one of the sofas and watched us attentively, a smile on her face.

I was smiling as well. It was pleasant to teach them, to see them learn and develop their love of music. How could Christine have kept them from discovering it sooner? Those children had a considerable potential in that respect. They were yearning for being supported, and I was more than willing to be the one doing it.

After about half an hour they were ready for singing the song completely, while I accompanied them. It was a beautiful, but also rather sad song about a prince and a princess. Antoinette's and Philippe's voices fitted together very well. Hearing them sing was a pleasure. I could already imagine them on stage in fifteen years' time.

Suddenly I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and realised that Jacqueline wasn't our only listener anymore. I didn't stop playing as I looked up. Christine was standing at the door. Her mouth was forming the words of the song, and there were tears trickling down her cheeks.


	91. Chapter NinetyOne

**Author's note: **This chapter is a long one. I hope you'll enjoy it. It never ceases to amaze me that even after all the time that has passed, I'm still getting new readers. Have fun with my story and don't forget to review!

**Chapter Ninety-One**

**September 16th 1892: **_Erik_

I was speechless, gazing at Christine while my fingers played automatically. She was standing there like an apparition, not even wiping the tears away. I could see the trails they left on her cheeks. I considered talking to her and asking her to join us, but decided against it. So far, I seemed to be the only one who had noticed her. The children were facing away from the door, and Jacqueline was showing no signs of having seen her either. So I left it to Christine herself. If she wanted to draw attention to the fact that she was there, she could do so.

So I focused on the song again. When I glanced to the door a few moments later, she was gone. Apparently she hadn't wanted anyone to see her. I wasn't even sure whether she had noticed that I had looked at her. Her eyes hadn't given away anything. But why, _why_ had she cried? Had it only been the sad song? Her children's singing? Or the fact that I hadn't sung with _her_?

"Uncle Erik," Philippe addressed me. "The song is over."

I realised that I had just continued playing after the last line, as if there were another verse coming.

"You're right," I muttered. "You've sung very well, both of you."

The children's cheeks grew rosy with my praise.

"I like singing," Antoinette stated. "Can we do that again sometime?"

"Why not?" I said, smiling. "I could teach the two of you together, every evening after dinner. But of course I have to ask your mother first."

"I'll ask her right now," the girl offered, yet I caught her by the arm before she could even turn around. I couldn't let her go to Christine, who maybe was still crying.

"No, I'll talk to her later," I told her, trying to use the same gentle, but firm voice Jacqueline used. "There are some other things I've got to discuss with her anyway. For you it's time to go to bed now." I had spoken the last sentence very loudly, so that my beloved knew we'd come into the living room soon.

Yet I hadn't thought about how persistent two children could be.

"You haven't sung anything yet," Philippe said. "You always tell me how much you love music. Why don't you sing for us?"

"Well… actually it is a little late…" I replied weakly. I wasn't entirely opposed to the idea. During the song I had noticed that I had held myself back all the time, in order not to join the children. And now they wanted me to sing. It was very tempting.

The maid seemed to sense that I was indecisive, for she told me:

"It's not that late yet. And I would like to hear you sing as well. I've heard the most fantastic stories about your voice.". She blushed slightly, obviously shocked by having dared utter that wish.

I smiled at her.

"If everyone wants me to sing, I'll do it," I muttered, hoping I didn't sound as eager as I was.

Quickly I searched for the right song in my mind. It didn't have to be too serious, yet not too exciting either, or the children wouldn't be able to sleep afterwards. At last I picked an old folk song which described the beauties of nature and the joys of having a family to come home to. I hadn't thought about it for years, but now it was in my head all of a sudden.

Since I had done the warm up exercises together with the children, I could start right away. My voice was filling the room, creating images on my mind and hopefully on the others' as well. I had almost forgotten how good it felt to sing for an audience. I could see in their faces how touched they were, how much my music affected them. It was amazing.

Yet even the most beautiful song had to end sooner or later.

"Another one," Philippe pleaded as soon as I had closed my mouth. His sister nodded, but I shook my head.

"One song is enough for today," I told them. "Now you do have to go to bed." Obediently the children left the room, complaining only very discreetly.

Jacqueline, on the other hand, was still sitting on the sofa motionlessly, a dreamy expression on her face. When I touched her shoulder gently, she jumped, as if I had woken her up from a dream.

"Oh, you're finished, Monsieur?" she muttered, standing up hastily.

"Did my singing please you?" I couldn't help asking.

She looked at me for a long moment.

"You shouldn't be the Opera Ghost," she then declared. "You should sing on stage. I've never ehard something that wonderful in my life." She squeezed my hand for a moment and left to go after the children. I followed her, smiling. It felt good to be praised.

The living room was empty as we walked through it. I assumed that Christine had gone straight upstairs after listening to her children, probably to wash her face before anyone could see the traces of tears. Maybe she had even already gone to bed, although it was still much too early to do so. I didn't doubt that she was angry at me, for whatever reason. Yet I also hoped I'd be able to talk to her later.

"What do you usually do when the children go to bed?" I asked Jacqueline as we walked up the stairs.

"Well, first they go to the bathroom, change into their nightclothes, and when they lie in bed, I read each of them a story. It all takes a little more time since Marielle has left, for I have to go to both children now. But all in all, it works very well."

"Couldn't I tell them a story tonight?" I offered.

"I'm sure they'd like that," she answered. "They love you, especially Philippe. I've rarely seen him this lively." So someone else had noticed it.

We kept talking until we reached the first bedroom, which happened to be Antoinette's. I was glad to realise that the maid was losing a little of her wariness in dealing with me. I couldn't blame her for being wary, for I had had to threaten her every now and then in the past, but for the time we were living under the same roof it was better that she treated me like a guest, perhaps even like a friend.

The bedroom was empty.

"This means she's still in the bathroom," Jacqueline explained. "I'll better go and see whether she needs help… or Philippe, of course."

"Tell them that they should both come to this room when they're finished," I called after her. "I don't want to tell the same story twice."

She nodded and walked down the corridor, while I sat down on a chair in the bedroom, waiting. It didn't take long till ideas formed themselves to a story in my head. By the time the others returned from the bathroom, it was finished.

Antoinette lay down in her bed, and Jacqueline sat down at the end of it, whereas Philippe appeared to be a little helpless, unsure where his place was. I patted my thigh encouragingly.

"You can sit on my lap," I suggested. The boy accepted my offer and crawled onto my lap, making me feel very warm and comfortable. I was just about to start when the door opened and Christine walked in.

"Am I allowed to listen as well?" she asked.

"Of course," I replied, regretting that the seat on my lap was already taken. Yet when she carried a second chair over from the window and sat down next to me, I was rather content as well.

"_Once upon a time there was a dragon,"_ I began. _"It was a gigantic dragon, as big as an elephant, with huge scarlet wings and a scaly green body. He lived in a cave surrounded by woods and only left it at night, for he was afraid that the people living in the village next to the woods could see him and grow frightened. You see, he was a very peaceful dragon, eating plants and drinking from streams. He also enjoyed sitting on a clearing at night and listening to the owls hooting and the tawny owls calling. And sometimes his roar could be heard mixing with those sounds, like a hauntingly beautiful melody._

_Yet one day the roars became more frequent. They were hanging over the village like thick fog. The villagers could hardly understand a word of what they were saying because it was so loud. _

_´The dragon must have gone insane,´ they shouted. ´We have to do something about him. If we don't stop him now, he'll demand or cattle or even our children next, like other dragons do. It'll be best to kill him.´_

_´No!´ someone cried. It was a very little someone, a mouse, with soft white fur and ears the colour of rose petals. ´I'll go and talk to him.´ With these words she made her way to the dragon's cave. The villagers didn't hold her back. _

_´The dragon will swallow her up before she has the chance to speak a word,´ they thought. ´But maybe it'll at least keep him distracted for a while.´_

_The mouse walked for hours and hours, and by the time she reached the cave, it was night. The moon was shining brightly. The roaring was so loud that it echoed through her head. Yet when the dragon spotted the mouse, it stopped._

_´Good night, little mouse,´ he greeted her politely. ´Have you come to help me?´_

_´Help you?´ the mouse repeated. ´Is that why you roar all the time? You need help?´_

_The dragon nodded with his huge head._

_´Last night I ate a rose bush,´ he explained. ´And one of the thorns is stuck between my back teeth. I can't get it out myself, for my claws are too big. But you have just the right size. All you have to do is crawl into my mouth and pull the thorn out.´_

_He smiled down at the mouse, and she noticed the tears of pain in his yellow eyes. But she also noticed how many sharp teeth he had. _

_´Do you sometimes eat mice?´ she wanted to know warily._

_´No. I've never harmed another living being, and I'd never harm you.´ he promised._

_So the mouse decided to help the dragon, even though she was frightened. He lowered his head, and she climbed into his big mouth. She was careful only to walk on his tongue, so that she didn't touch his teeth. The dragon had stepped out into the moonlight to help her find her way. At last she saw the thorn, stuck deep in his flesh. She seized it with both of her tiny hands and pulled it out._

_The dragon was so happy that he wanted to cheer, yet at the last moment he remembered the mouse and let her leave his mouth first. Then he cheered, and tears of joy ran down his scaly face. _

_´You helped me,´ he called. ´I'd have never thought someone would come to help me, but you did. Now I want to do something for you. I have wonderful treasures in my cave: gold, silver, rubies and diamonds. You can have whatever you want.´_

_´What should a mouse like me do with treasures?´ she asked. ´What I want is something different: I want to be your friend.´_

_So the dragon and the mouse became friends, and there were no better friends on earth. They ate plants and drank from streams together. The dragon even dared go out at day-time when his little friend was with him. Yet what they both liked best was listening to the owls and singing with them, and they lived happily ever after."_

Resurfacing from the world of my imagination I saw the effects my story had had: Antoinette was fast asleep, so was Philippe on my lap. Jacqueline was watching me in fascination. Yet the most surprising effect was that Christine held my hand. She must have seized it without me noticing. The maid took the boy out of my arms and left the room with him.

"Good night," she called in a low voice. "And thank you."

Christine and I didn't speak as we walked down the corridor. We stopped at the door to her bedroom.

"The mouse isn't afraid of the dragon. Let me show you…" she whispered, tugging at my arm lightly.

"But maybe the dragon is afraid of the mouse," I gave back. Our eyes met.


	92. Chapter NinetyTwo

**Chapter Ninety-Two**

**September 16th 1892: **_Christine_

We gazed at each other for what felt like years, although it couldn't have been more than a few moments. Erik was very good at this. He could look at me in a way that made me give in automatically. Yet today that would not happen. I didn't want to give in again. I wanted… yes, I wanted him. It was as simple as that.

I hadn't known before how much I wanted him. There had been nothing but a vague feeling in my stomach. Yet the feeling had grown when I had listened to my children singing. It had been such a nice song, and it had been sung so very well. I had had no idea my little ones had such good voices. It had been an almost symbolic experience for me, as if Erik had tried to send me a message: Look at what I can make your children do! They are just like you were…

This was the reason why I had cried. They had reminded me so much of myself, of the anxious little girl I had once been… the girl Erik had given everything to in order to make her a singer. Gratitude had simply overwhelmed me in that one moment. He was such a good person. He only deserved what was best for him. And that could only be me.

When Erik had sung himself then, I had been even more touched. Reason told me that he couldn't even have known I had still been there, for I had gone back to the living room. Still I felt as if he had only sung for me. After all, the song had been about how wonderful it was to come home after a long day outside. At the moment, we were his home. I fully intended to make these few days he'd be with us the best in his life.

Yet what had been most convincing that I was right had been the story. It hadn't been difficult to work out that it had been about him and me. He wanted me to help him and to be his friend, just like the mouse had become the dragon's friend. We already were friends, of course, but maybe we could be even more for each other.

"There's nothing you have to be afraid of," I told him softly. "I won't do anything you don't want me to." Even while I was speaking, it occurred to me what a strange situation this was: Usually I was the one who was hesitant, who had to be persuaded. And now it was just the other way round. I tugged at his arm again, feeling like someone trying to comfort a frightened horse.

"I know," he said after a moment, although he didn't sound as if he knew it. "But I don't want to take any risks. What if we get overwhelmed by our feelings?"

"Isn't that what making love is about?" I asked, having made sure that Jacqueline had closed the door to Philippe's room after her. I didn't want anyone to hear me use such words. "Letting one's feelings take charge and forgetting everything else?"

Slowly he shook his head.

"It would only work like that for a few moments," he replied with a sad smile. "Yes, we would enjoy ourselves, but what about afterwards? There always is an afterwards…"

"Afterwards we'd just go on living, the way we always did," I said eagerly. It was a good sign that he was already thinking about afterwards, wasn't it? It meant he wasn't completely opposed to doing it. "I know you don't like changes, but nothing would change between us."

"_Everything_ would change between us," Erik stressed. "Do you really think we could go on as if nothing had happened? Do you really think that's what I want? And how do you imagine our life would be? At day we'd pretend to be just friends, and at night I'd sneak into your room? I'd have never thought I'd say that in connection with you, but I deserve better than that. Good night, Christine."

With these words he pulled his hand out of my grasp and walked the few steps to his room, closing the door almost soundlessly. It was only when he was no longer standing there that I realised what had happened.

"Erik…" I called. "Erik, no… I'm sorry." I hurried after him and pushed down the door handle, but it was locked. It was actually locked. The meaning of this action was unmistakable: He didn't want me. There was no point in trying to persuade him to open. He wouldn't do it anyway.

Slowly I shuffled into my bedroom. Although it surely wasn't much later than nine o'clock, I prepared myself for going to bed. A good book was the most I could expect from the end of this day. Raoul and I liked sitting in the living room with a glass of wine in the evening, talking. Yet I doubted that would be still possible with Erik. I had hurt him too much.

Actually I hadn't even said that much, but it had been enough to offend him. Or hadn't it been my words, but his interpretation of them? He had made it sound as if I wanted him as a weird male version of a mistress. Yet that was simply not true. I wanted him as… I stopped dead, my hands in the middle of opening my dress, as I realised it _was_ true. If I had wanted him as much as he wanted me, I'd have left my husband and gone to Erik. I finally had to understand that I couldn't have both of them.

I continued undressing and put on my dressing gown, so that I could walk over to the bathroom without being afraid of someone seeing me. Arriving there I looked at myself in the mirror for a while. I was unnaturally pale, and my eyes had an almost feverish gleam, yet at least the traces of tears were no longer visible. I had hastily wiped my face when I had returned to the living room.

Still I didn't look healthy. Maybe… maybe I was getting ill. Yes, it had to be like that. I had come too close to Gabriel when Raoul and I had discussed our situation with the servants, and now I had a cold as well. I should better lie down immediately. Erik would surely come if I called for him in a faint voice, and then I could –

No! I frowned at my reflection, shocked about the direction into which my thoughts had wandered. I would certainly not pretend to be ill to get his attention. I wasn't a little girl anymore. Erik would realise what was going on at once and be apalled. Besides, I had sworn myself not to lie. It was time for behaving the way adults did.

Quickly I finished my visit to the bathroom and returned to my bedroom, sitting down at the table. I wanted to apologise to Erik, but I wasn't sure he'd listen to me. So I had decided to write him a letter.

_Dear Erik,_

_I am truly sorry for my behaviour. I didn't want to give you the impression that I only want you and me to… you know, do it because I feel like it. You're probably right: Things would change between us. And until I know what this means, we should better stay away from each other at night. The mouse is afraid she might swallow up the dragon._

_Christine_

I folded the sheet of paper twice and left it on the table as I went to bed, putting my dressing gown on the chair next to it. The temptation to deliver the letter right now was strong, but I resisted it. He probably wouldn't even open the door. Yet most importantly I didn't trust myself. Writing that I'd stay away from him was very well, but I wasn't sure whether I'd be that strong-willed if I stood in front of him.

It had been a while since the last time I had slept alone, and I hated it. This bed was made for two persons. For me alone it was much too big and too cold. I wrapped the blanket around me tightly, yet it didn't get better. I was still feeling cold and lonely. I imagined Raoul lying next to me… or was it Erik? In that state between being awake and asleep I couldn't tell, and it didn't matter either. I longed for someone to be there, to take me into his arms and press soft kisses into my hair. The longing was so strong that it felt like a low burning in my stomach. It was this burning that I finally fell asleep with.


	93. Chapter NinetyThree

**Chapter Ninety-Three**

**September 16th 1892: **_Erik_

I had rejected her. I had _rejected_ her. She had invited me to her room, and I had gone away. Even now, after pacing the length of the guestroom countless times, I couldn't believe what I had done. It was impossible. Absolutely impossible. I couldn't have seriously rejected her. I wouldn't do such a thing… or would I?

Maybe all this was a bizzarre nightmare. I had fallen asleep in the music room after I had sung, and Jacqueline hadn't dared wake me up. No, it couldn't be like that, as much as I wished it were. I could feel my feet aching from walking without pause, and the porcelain of my mask was rubbing against my skin uncomfortably, reminding me that it was time to take it off for a while. Usually I didn't feel such mundane things in my dreams. So I had to be awake.

It would have been too good to be true anyway. Most of my life had been like a nightmare, and I had never been able to wake up. So why should it be different now? I came to a halt at the bedside table and reached up to my head, opening the ribbons that held my mask in place. I removed it carefully, giving a sigh of relief as the cool air caressed the right side of my face lovingly. This was just what I had needed. At least the physical pain I had felt was better now.

My relief didn't last longer than a few moments. Then I felt the urgent wish to put on the mask again. My home was the only place where I didn't feel uneasy without it. This house just wasn't my home, no matter how much I'd have liked it to be different. What if someone came in and saw me?

´Nonsense,´ I scolded myself. ´Even if someone was still awake and wanted to enter this room without knocking first, they wouldn't be able to do so. The door is locked.´

And why was the door locked? I groaned, noticing I had come back to my initial problem. I had not only rejected Christine, I had also locked the door to keep her from following me. I had watched her try it, watched the door handle move and heard her mutter something, although this one time I hadn't been able to understand what she had said.

Perhaps I should have let her in. It was her house, after all. I was just a guest. Besides, maybe she'd have told me something that would have made me change my mind, like… Like what? That she loved me and wanted to spend the rest of her life with me? That she wanted to elope with me and live in a quiet opera, just the two of us? I shook my head dismissively. Not even in my wildest dreams I imagined such absurdities. At least I didn't admit it.

It had been right not to open the door, not only because of her. I also had to protect me from myself. I knew that my mind could be a treacherous being every now and then, making me act without considering the consequences. And it had not only been like that in the moment when the door handle had been pushed down. The temptation was still there, sitting in my head and whispering.

´Go to her. It's not too late. She's still waiting for you, just next door. She'd be pleased to see you, pleased to feel you…´

I rushed to the window and pulled it open, as if I hoped the voice would fly out into the night. It didn't do that, yet at least it was quiet. The air was crisp and refreshing, like plunging one's head into a bowl of cold water, which was something I had done quite a few times when I had had the feeling that my mind were on fire. Immediately I could see things from a more objective point of view. Of course Christine would be pleased to see me, but that was not what it was all about. I had meant what I had said about deserving better.

But what if she… didn't love me anymore? I hardly dared finish the thought. It was the worst consequence I could imagine. Maybe she did love me after all, but my seemingly cold behaviour had chased her away. I leaned my upper body out of the window. There were still a few pieces of wood on the windowsill. Yet I wasn't here to criticise anyone's cleaning qualities. I merely glanced down at the blackness below me, till I felt dizzy. If Christine truly didn't love me anymore, I could as well throw myself out of the window at once. What was the point in living without her love?

I stared down, the wind making my eyes water… or was I crying? Crying about a lost love? Or a love I had never had? It didn't matter. Just a few inches more, then my feet would be lifted off the floor, and I'd fall down… down… My hands gripped the windowsill tightly, and I was about to stretch out my arms, lifting my body into the air… when an image of Philippe suddenly flashed up in my head. He was crouching on the ground, his tiny hand stroking my lifeless form tenderly. Now he reached up and…

No! I jumped backwards, nearly tripping over my own feet as I tried to get away from the window as quickly as possible. My boy mustn't see me like that, dead and… and without my mask. I couldn't tell which one of the two would be worse. Anyway, such a sight would ruin his life. Philippe needed me, as his teacher and as his friend. I had taken over that responsibility, and now I couldn't just run away from it.

I had to pull myself together. A child was more important than what was happening between Christine and me – or rather, what was not happening. If I tried hard enough, I'd surely manage to appear as if everything were normal. As long as I was living with other people, I had to be happy. And when I was alone… well, that was nobody else's business. All that mattered was that my lonely nights didn't have consequences for the days. So killing myself was out of the question.

But now I was alone, so I could let myself go and be as miserable as I pleased. And I was very miserable. Still I closed the window first. It would have been too dangerous to leave it open. What if someone heard me cry? It was a fact that I'd cry soon. I could already feel the telltale lump in my throat. Yet according to my new resolution, crying was allowed, as long as no one noticed it. I'd be the happiest miserable person in Paris.

Would I also have to hide my feelings from Christine? That question was more difficult to answer. The part of me that was still very protective when it came to her told me not to do anything that could make her upset. But then, how was she supposed to know that she had hurt me if I pretended to be happy?

Perhaps a letter would be a good idea. I could explain my resolution not to show emotions in front of the children – for of course Philippe was not the only one who had to be protected – and ask her to do the same. Like this, we could avoid ugly scenes and spend the days we had together as carefreely as possible. We'd be the two happiest miserable persons in Paris.

Fortunately the guestroom was equipped very well for people who wanted to write letters. Writing utensils were lying on the table next to the window. There even was a little lamp. Still it took a long time till my message was finished.

_Dearest Christine,_

_I hereby apologise for having walked away from you. I should have explained my reasons to you more clearly, and I sincerely hope you are not angry at me. Yet no matter what kinds of emotions you may have towards me, I ask you not to display them when someone else is around. You see, I'm afraid the children could be influenced negatively by us. We should be good examples for them. I'm sure you'll understand my worries._

_Erik_

I inwardly congratulated myself for my ability to write a sensible-sounding letter while feeling anything but sensible. I didn't want to hide my emotions. I wanted to show them for anyone to see. Yet my worries were stronger. I'd never forgive myself if the children didn't like me anymore because they thought I was making their mother sad.

I sat at the table long after I was finished, looking out into the darkness. Even with all those troubles, I had not forgotten the attacks. Maybe I wasn't good for much, but I could at least protect the family from intruders. And the tears I was shedding were only caused my the wind. What other reason should there be?


	94. Chapter NinetyFour

**Chapter Ninety-Four**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

I woke up when the rays of sunlight coming through the window tickled my face. Slowly I opened my eyes and lifted my head, groaning as a jolt of pain shot through my back. Straightening up very cautiously I discovered the reason: I had fallen asleep sitting at the table, with my arms as pillow. It was only natural that the crouched position my body had been in all night hadn't been good for my back. Now I was paying the price for refusing to go to bed.

It had been foolish to believe that spending the night on a chair would keep me from falling asleep and having nightmares. Sleep was something everybody needed, and the nightmares… well, after such a day it would have been strange not to have any. Yet even given my usual nightmares, which surely were worse than the average person's, those had been particularly terrible. I could still feel an echo of the horror they had evoked in me, especially the last one.

_"I deserve better than that," I told Christine. Quickly I ran away and locked the door to the guestroom behind me._

"_No, Erik!" she called, coming after me. I could see her, see her through the closed door. Her face was red, and there were rivers of tears streaming down her cheeks. "Let me in!" she cried, slamming her fists against the door with all her strength. Yet it didn't give way._

_She tried it again and again, till she was out of breath. Then she sank to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. _

"_Erik…" she whispered faintly between sobs. "Why did you reject me? Do you hate me? I love you so much… I – "_

_Suddenly her face grew even redder, and her hands flew to her throat. _

"_Can't breathe… help…" she muttered, her eyes bulging._

_I wanted to unlock the door, only to find that the key had vanished. I tried to force it open, but that didn't work either. I was too weak. All I could do was watch Christine and listen to her voice growing fainter._

"_Erik… help me… please… I love you… Erik!"_

Even the memory of the nightmare made me shudder. It had been so real… except for the fact that usually I couldn't look through doors, of course. Yes, that was something I could concentrate on. As long as I didn't forget that it had just been a dream, it didn't have the power to scare me… at least in theory. In practice I tried to avoid thinking about it at all. It was good that a moment later something pushed the dream out of my head.

I was just enjoying the sunshine on my face a little more when I realised what this meant: The sun had already left the shadows of the trees in the garden, so it was later than I had assumed. I had sat in the garden often enough to know that. It had to be at least half past seven. Any moment someone could knock at the door to call me to breakfast and wonder why I had locked myself in. Besides, I had to deliver the letter to Christine before she left the room.

The sleepy stupor I had been in before vanished quickly as I came to my feet, nearly knocking over the chair. I wasn't even wearing my mask yet, and my clothes were wrinkled. I couldn't go anywhere looking like this, not even if it was just the corridor. Fortunately there was a bowl with water standing on the chest of drawers. Since it had been standing there for about a day, its contents weren't exactly fresh. But then, I didn't want to drink them.

Ten minutes later I was kneeling in front of my suitcase, wearing nothing but my underwear, and looked for the rest of my clothing. Scrubbing myself vigorously with a washcloth had got rid of the last bits os sleepiness, and I was ready to face the day… as soon as I had found clothes, that was. I quickly took out a black suit and a white shirt, resolving to unpack my suitcase at the first occasion I'd have. Then I hastened to get dressed.

When every piece of clothing was at its place and every button was closed, I continued the process of getting ready with the next step: my mask. I put it on and adjusted it in front of the mirror carefully. It was only then that I felt completely dressed. I fetched the letter from the table, glad that I hadn't slept on it, and walked to the door. Of course the key was there. It turned in the lock smoothly, and I opened the door.

The corridor was empty. I heard a door being closed, but no one was there. I tiptoed outside and went over to the bedroom. I couldn't tell whether Christine was still in it, but I figured she'd find the letter sooner or later. I placed it right in front of the door, so that she couldn't miss it, and –

"What are you doing there, Uncle Erik?" a voice behind me asked.

I spun around, only to see Philippe standing in front of my.

"Nothing," I replied. Then I looked over at my door, where someone else had just given exactly the same answer.

_Christine _

_"I deserve better than that," Erik called._

_"But why? What does this all mean?" I asked him, utterly confused._

_"It is very simple," he replied shortly, as if talking to me at all were bothering him. "It means that I don't want you. I deserve better than you." He sneered at me and took a step backwards, so that he could watch me better in all my misery._

_I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it._

_"But Erik…" I muttered. "I love you."_

_"I love you…" he mocked me, his voice high-pitched and cruel. "You should have thought of that sooner. Did you really believe I'd wait for you forever? Of course not! There are so many others eager to get their chance with me…"_

_And it was true: Suddenly there were women everywhere. They came from all directions, up and down the corridor we were standing in as well as out of the various rooms. There were at least a dozen of them, surrounding Erik and shielding him from view. Larisse, Jacqueline, the Baroness and the diva from the opera were those I recognised immediately._

_"We all love Erik," they chorused. "And he loves us. He doesn't need a stupid little girl who cannot make up her mind!"_

_"But… I've made up my mind now," I whispered, sinking to my knees._

_"Too late!" they cried triumphantly. "Too late, too late, too late…"_

I woke up with a start, gasping for breath. What a dreadful nightmare this had been! I was in a terrible state. My heart was racing, and my face was sweaty. My hands were sweaty as well, clutching the blanket tightly. Only slowly I let go of it and stretched out my fingers one by one. They were aching, and I wondered how long I had been holding on to the blanket in my sleep.

I should have known it wouldn't be good for me to sleep alone. If I had been able to hold on to a warm body instead of a blanket, I wouldn't have had such dreams. That one had been the last in a series of horror that had haunted me all night. I had never been particularly interested in the interpretation of dreams, but the meaning of those was clear to me: If I didn't make my decision soon, it might be too late.

But then, I had already made a decision, hadn't I? I had decided to stay away from Erik at night… till I'd make a decision. Well, maybe one could call it a pre-decision. It was better than nothing. Everything was still possible. Despite the message in my dreams, it was not too late yet.

Too late? I looked up, startled. What time was it? Oh no, it was already light outside! I had to hurry if I wanted Erik to have the letter as soon as possible. He always got up early – if he slept at all, that was. What if he had already left his room? I jumped out of the bed in alarm, racing to the table where I had put the letter.

It was only when I had reached the door that I realised I couldn't leave the room wearing only a nightdress. Erik could see me and think my behaviour indecent. Besides, my hair was dishevelled and my face sweaty. I didn't want him to see me like that. So I went over to the washbasin and washed myself quickly, but thoroughly. Then I got dressed properly, in a light pink skirt and a white blouse. I didn't know what we'd do today, but this combination would be suitable for many occasions.

Now I went out into the corridor, after making sure no one was there. Yet just as I was sneaking to Erik's door, it opened slowly. Hastily I ran into the bathroom, which was on the other side of the corridor. If only he didn't want to go in here! Fortune was smiling on me. Through a small gap in the door I saw him walk away. I couldn't make out where he was going, but as long as he didn't come back before I was finished, it didn't matter.

I hurried to his room, focusing entirely on this one door. I'd just put the letter in front of it, then he'd see it as soon as he'd return. It was very simple, really. I leaned down and –

"What are you doing, Maman?" A voice made me spin around.

"Nothing," I said quickly as I looked into my daughter's curious face. A second later I glanced over at a certain somebody who was standing at my door and had just said the same. Erik's surprised gaze met mine, and we burst into laughter.


	95. Chapter NinetyFive

**Chapter Ninety-Five**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

I couldn't stop laughing. The situation was just ridiculous: Here we were, two adults, sneaking around like children and trying to deliver letters to each other. If I had known that before, I'd have simply given mine to Christine, and she could have handed me hers. It would have been much less stressful for both of us. Secretly I wondered whether her morning had been like mine, with all the hurry and the constant feeling of being too late. Yet looking at her I decided that was probably not the case. She was much too pretty and neat, just like always. She had probably been awake for hours.

In the end it was Antoinette who interrupted our laughter.

"What have you got in your hand, Maman?" she wanted to know, eyeing the piece of paper curiously. Was it a letter at all? Suddenly I wasn't sure about it anymore. Just because mine was a letter and hers looked similar, it didn't have to be a letter as well. It could be anything. But what was she doing with it at my door then?

Christine's answer made my doubts disappear.

"It's a letter for Uncle Erik," she admitted.

"Then why don't you give it to him?" her daughter asked. "He's standing right over there…"

"Yes… I, erm, know… but…" Christine stammered, throwing me a pleading glance.

I was always good at making up excuses. My talent didn't fail me this time either, even though it was early in the morning.

"It's a game," I explained quickly. "Your mother and I have both written a letter and have to deliver it without the other one noticing anything."

"And now we've spoilt your game. Are you very angry at us?" Of course it was Philippe who asked such a question, looking at me anxiously.

"No," I assured him. "It wasn't a very good game anyway." Christine nodded emphatically. "Why don't you help us make it better?" I suggested with a kind smile. "You take my letter…" I picked it up from the floor and handed it to the boy. "…and your sister takes your mother's…" They followed my instructions. "…and now you give it to the person who's supposed to receive it."

A moment later I held her letter in my hands. For a few seconds I was simply happy that I had solved the problem this elegantly and curious about what she had written. But then I realised I couldn't open it now, as much as I wanted to. The children would surely want to know what was in it, and if it was something surprising or upsetting, I might not be able to make up a lie quickly enough to satisfy their curiosity. This would mean that I'd violate my rule about not showing emotions in front of them not even twelve hours after inventing it.

Christine seemed to have noticed the problem about opening the letters as well, for she said:

"It's part of the game that the contents of the letters are secret. So you've got to go now, I'm afraid. Just go down to breakfast, and we'll join you in a minute.".

Antoinette and Philippe didn't look pleased about her suggestion, but they were old enough to know that the rules of a game were important, even if they didn't like them. So they made their way downstairs.

"Do you want us to open them in front of each other?" my beloved asked when they were gone.

"I don't know," I replied. "That depends on what is written in yours…" If it were bad news, I'd rather receive them alone. But if it were good news, I didn't mind her seeing me. "What about you? What would you prefer?" I wanted to know quickly.

"Well, that depends on what you've written," she muttered. We chuckled, an embarrassed, slightly helpless sound.

"Is yours… something good?" she asked after a moment.

"That depen – " I interrupted myself before I could use that word yet again. "Let's just read them in our bedrooms," I said. "And if there's something one of us wants to talk about, he or she just comes over and knocks."

"That sounds very good," she agreed. So we did what I had suggested.

As soon as I had closed the door behind me, I unfolded the piece of paper. I didn't want to wait for another moment. Whatever Christine had written, it had to be important, or she would have simply told me in person. Either that, or it was a very delicate matter and she didn't dare talk about it. Of course it could also be something both delicate and important.

When I was finished reading, I sank down onto the bed. Actually I should have been pleased that she accepted my opinion and even thought I were right. It was only logical that she drew the conclusion and asked me to stay away from her at night. Yes, I should have been pleased. But I wasn't. I was just sad. Secretly I had still been looking forward to sleeping in her bed. Just a few kisses and maybe an embrace would have been enough for me. They'd have kept the nightmares at bay.

I wondered whether my letter was just as devastating as hers. When I had written it, it had sounded just fine. But then, it had probably been the same with hers, and still it had saddened me greatly. What if it was even worse for her? Would she hate me for the request I had made? And come to think of it, how would I know whether she hated me? After all, I had asked her not to show emotions…

My pondering was leading nowhere. What I needed were answers, and only Christine herself could given them. So I left my room and went over to hers, knocking softly, just like we had arranged it.

"You can come in, Erik," she called. It was impossible to tell from her voice in what a mood she was, even for me, who was a master at that art. Cautiously I opened the door, brazing myself for the worst without having an exact idea what ´the worst´ might be.

Christine was standing at the other side of the room, looking out of the window. At least I assumed she was looking out of the window; her back was facing me. She was standing exceptionally upright, like a pupil being examined by a much stricter teacher that I'd ever be. Something in her posture made me come to a halt a few steps away from her.

"How did you know it was me standing outside?" I asked the first question that entered my mind.

"Who else should it have been?" she gave back. "The only other persons sleeping in rooms on this floor are Jacqueline and Gabriel. The latter either has already gone down to breakfast or is still too ill to get up, and Jacqueline is wherever the children are. So she's downstairs as well. This leaves you."

This lengthy explanation could have been accompanied by a wink, the way she sometimes did it, but it wasn't. I could hear that much in her voice. It was a cool enumeration of facts, not more and not less. I wasn't sure what to think about it. This was just not like Christine.

"What's wrong with you?" I asked. "Was it my letter? I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings."

"I can assure you that I'm perfectly fine, thank you very much," she stated. "I'm just practicing what you told me to."

Now everything fell into place.

"I didn't mean it like that," I hastened to say. "You don't have to hide your feelings when there's just the two of us in the room. I was referring to situations in which the children are around."

"So you think you have the right to decide when I'm allowed to show my emotions?" she wanted to know slowly. Her voice was losing its flatness as she grew angry. "And when will you inform me into which category a certain situation belongs? Will you tell me a moment before, she that I'll have time to adapt? And what about situations in which the children come in during a conversation? Will I have to stop having emotions in the middle of a sentence?"

At last she turned around, yet after taking one look at her face I almost wished she wouldn't have done so. It was contorted with anger, a striking contrast to the coldness she had shown before.

"I have no idea what's going on in your head, but _I_ just can't do that with my feelings," she called. "They're not like… a candle that you can blow out and light again as often as you please. My feelings are always there, whether you like it or not."

"I know that," I told her gently. "I'm not trying to control you or tell you what to feel. It's just… just like your wish. You ask me to do something, and I do it. Why can't you do the same?"

"You canot compare those two things," she said. "My wish is completely different from yours. Unlike you, I'm not asking you to change your entire behaviour."

"That's true, but – "

My sentence was interrupted by a blood-curling scream that echoed through the house in that very moment. At once everything else was forgotten. Christine and I exchanged a brief glance, then we ran out of the room.


	96. Chapter NinetySix

**Chapter Ninety-Six**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

Trousers were definitely better for running than long skirts. Still I reached the bottom of the stairs only moments before Christine. At once I saw the person who had screamed. It was Mme.Gardé, the cook. She was standing at the open entrance door, clinging to the coatrack as if it were the only thing that kept her in an upright position. Given the fact that she was very pale and trembling all over, it probably _was_ the only thing that kept her in an upright position.

Next to her was the old butler. He was neither pale nor trembling, yet as far as his face was capable of showing disgust, it did so. For an irrational second I thought he were looking like that because I had come down the stairs, but reason told me that couldn't be true. After all, I was wearing my mask. Besides, the cook had screamed before she had seen me.

Both servants were staring transfixed at a large brown paper bag that stood in front of the door, looking rather innocent. Still I knew there had to be something wrong with it.

"What is that?" I asked.

It was only now that they managed to tear their gaze away from the bag and looked up at me.

"Oh, thank goodness you're here, Monsieur," Mme.Gardé muttered. "I know we are not supposed to open anything that was brought to our door, but this is just the delivery from the butcher's that we get a few times a week. I only wanted to make sure he sent what I had asked for, and…" She pressed a handkerchief to her mouth and couldn't go on.

"Did you come here when she shouted?" I asked the butler, giving the cook a moment to regain her composure.

"No," he replied, shaking his head solemnly. "I was the one who opened the door when the delivery arrived. I had never seen the boy who brought it before, but that is nothing extraordinary. That butcher has someone new every other week. I then called Mme.Gardé… I am deeply sorry." He gave the woman a brief nod, which probably was his version of an apologetic smile.

"And… what is inside the bag?" I wanted to know, trying to pretend that if I heard the answer, I didn't have to see it myself. Yet that hope was shattered in the next second.

"Look for yourself," Jacques said. "I do not know the words to describe it. And if I did, I wouldn't use them in front of the ladies."

One glance at Mme.Gardé made clear that she wouldn't tell me anything either. She had still not taken the handkerchief away from her mouth.

I stepped forwards boldly and took a deep breath, which I instantly regretted. The stench of decay was disgusting.

"I'm going to open it now," I announced. "But you stay behind, Christine. Whatever is inside, I don't want you to see it."

With these words I leaned down and opened the bag. I threw a brief glance at its contents… and recoiled in horror. The bag contained a mass of intestines that were already rotting. Maggots crawled over the flesh. I couldn't say that about many things, but this sight was worse than my face without the mask.

My hand flew to my mouth as my stomach lurched violently. I retched, but could keep myself from throwing up by telling myself that I had seen worse. That was true, and still I felt sick. I had seen much worse scenarios, yet they had taken place a long time ago. Moreover, they had never happened on the doorstep of an innocent family. The contrast between the perfectly white door, the highly-polished steps and the bag full of intestines only made it more grotesque.

"What is it?" Christine asked behind me. I was very glad that she had made no attempt to peer over my shoulder. It had probably been the nauseating smell that had held her back.

"Well, let's just say that if your cook wants to turn this into a delicious lunch for us, I suggest we eat in a restaurant," I told her with a wry smile. It wasn't a very good joke, but it was better than nothing. I needed to get that picture out of my head, and so did the two servants.

Mme.Gardé smiled tentatively, as if she had to make sure that she still knew how to do it.

"May I go now?" she asked in a small voice. "The children are waiting for their breakfast. I was just about to serve it when I was called away. It's so good that I closed all the doors on my way here, or they'd have heard me…"

"Of course you can go," I said. "Take Christine and Jacques with you. I'll be there as well as soon as possible. But first I have to get rid of that bag." Christine seemed to think about raising an objection, but didn't do it. She knew that someone had to dispose of the bag and was glad it wasn't her.

When they were gone, I fetched a pair of thick leather gloves out of the pocket of my cloak, which was hanging on the coatrack. Then I seized the bag, careful not to let it come into contact with any other part of me, and took it outside, where someone would take it away soon. Once I was back inside the house, I spent a considerable amount of time washing my hands. Although they had been protected by the gloves, they felt dirty.

"Where have you been all the time?" Antoinette asked me as soon as I had sat down at the table in the dining room. "You said that Maman and you would be with us in a minute, but you were gone much longer."

"Well, there was something I had to do," I muttered, hoping against hope it was a sufficient answer. Of course it wasn't.

"What?" she wanted to know instantly.

"That's enough, Antoinette," Jacqueline scolded her. "M.Erik doesn't have to tell you about everything he does. He has barely settled down, and you're aleady pestering him with questions. Under these circumstances he'll think twice about taking you to the opera with him."

That had been the right argument. The girl's mouth snapped shut, and she threw me a pleading glance.

"I will take you with me," I assured her. "But only in the afternoon. In the morning, I'll have to go and see someone." I could positively watch curiosity light a fire in Antoinette's eyes, yet not a single words left her lips. The maid's threat had been so terrible that the girl didn't dare utter the question whom I wanted to meet.

"You don't have time this morning anyway," Jacqueline reminded her. "You'll be at your teacher's house till two in the afternoon, and then your mother's friend Mme.Tavoire will be here to give you a ballet lesson."

"Oh…" the girl made. She seemed to be torn between ballet and the opera, which as far as I could tell were both among the things she liked best. It was impossible for her to decide against one of them. Yet that wasn't necessary. The maid's words had also reminded me of something.

"I've just recalled that it's the dancers' afternoon off today," I told them. "Otherwise Meg wouldn't be able to come here and teach you, of course. So you wouldn't have liked it at the opera anyway, Antoinette. I think we should either go there in the afternoon without you and a second time tomorrow or else only tomorrow. We can still decide about it later."

Having said that I reached for my cup and took a first sip of lukewarm coffee. Mme.Gardé had apparently filled it when she had returned from the entrance door, assuming I'd be there a moment later. Unfortunately it hadn't been like that. Yet I didn't say anything. The poor woman was still upset enough without me making such unfriendly comments. Besides, maybe it was better than hot coffee for my troubled stomach.

There was a lot of talking going on, and to my surprise I found that I enjoyed taking part in it. I wasn't a morning person, mainly because I spent most nights with anything but sleeping and was in a bad mood afterwards. Yet at this table there was so much liveliness that I couldn't help join in. The effect was amazing: After a few minutes of joking with the children I hardly thought of Christine's angry face or the maggots anymore.

Yet even the best meal had to end sooner or later. Jacqueline and Antoinette excused themselves and left the room to go to Jacques, who'd take them to the girl's teacher. I seized the chance of the others leaving to send Philippe to his room to practice reading. Now only Christine and I were still sitting at the table.

"Do you really have someone to see or did you just say that in front of Antoinette?" she asked. The parallels between her and her daughter had never been as clear as in this moment. Her eyes had the same curious sparkle. I smiled.

"As a matter of fact, there is someone," I replied. "I've got a see a certain butcher."


	97. Chapter NinetySeven

**Chapter Ninety-Seven**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

"Then I'll come with you," Christine declared instantly.

"What?" I muttered. "No. That's impossible. You…" Hastily I searched for a good reason. It just took me a moment to find one. "You can't leave Philippe alone at home."

"We could take him with us as well," she suggested. "I'm sure he won't disturb us. We could hire a coach to get to the butcher's, so we won't have to walk."

The image of me trying to get answers out of a man while a woman and a little boy were standing next to me made me chuckle, although the situation was far from funny. Besides, where did the ´we´ come from all of a sudden? Until a minute ago, it had still be ´I´. I couldn't understand why Christine thought she could just come along.

"This won't be a pleasant pastime," I explained patiently. "It's possible that the butcher won't be willing to talk to me. Then I'll have to use… well, unusual methods to make him talk."

"You won't… kill him, will you?" she asked, growing a little pale.

"No," I replied, both shocked about her assumption and indignant. "Of course I won't kill him. Is that why you want to come with me? To keep me from killing people?" My voice had become slightly louder while I had spoken the last words. I just couldn't believe that she trusted me so little.

Christine shook her head emphatically, but seemed too astonished for words. That was all right with me, for I wasn't finished yet anyway. After taking a deep breath I could go on.

"You think I haven't changed at all, don't you? You think I've a pile of dead bodies hidden somewhere in my world. You think I'm a madman. Isn't that what you think?" Now my voice was growing softer again. What was the point in shouting? I felt very empty, now that all those words had left my mouth.

My beloved had listened to my outburst in silence without trying to interrupt me. She seized my hand, which was lying on the table, shaking slightly.

"No," she said simply, giving it a light squeeze. "That's not what I think. I know you're not a madman, and I know you wouldn't kill the butcher… or anyone, for that matter. I'm not sure why I asked that question. I'm just… confused by all the things that have happened in the last days. Somehow nothing seems impossible anymore."

"I know what you mean," I muttered. "But I promise that I'll find whoever is doing those things, and they'll be brought to justice… by the police, not by the Punjab Lasso," I added, in case there was any doubt about it. "And in order to do that, I'll have to talk to the butcher, to ask him and the people working for him whether they've noticed anything. Maybe one of them has been persuaded to bring to wrong bag to your door. But you've got to understand that I can't take you with me. It would be too dangerous. A butcher has access to a lot of knives…"

"I see," she said. I noticed that her face had become even paler than before, and it occurred to me that perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned the knives. "But I'm frightened. What if something happens while you're gone?"

"You won't open the door, no matter who is outside," I told her. "When I get back, I'll use the back entrance, the one through the kitchen. I'll let your daughter and the others in myself; they'll be gone longer than me. In the meantime, no one is to leave the house. Stay away from the windows, in case they get smashed again."

She nodded, and I knew she'd follow each of my instructions. She was too worried about their safety to be careless. I was worried as well. If I could have stayed with her, I'd have done so. But we couldn't just sit around and wait for the next terrible event to take place. This had to stop.

Sighing, I took the last sip of my coffee, which was absolutely cold by now, and stood up. The sooner I'd leave, the sooner I'd get back.

"Erik?" Christine whispered.

"Yes?" I asked, leaning down to her.

She cupped my face, and suddenly her lips were on mine. I gasped for breath, taken by surprise, and she seized the chance to invade my mouth with her tongue. It was a wonderful kiss, yet I had hardly had time to get used to the feeling when it was over again.

"Be careful," she said, giving me a breathless smile. I returned the smile, too confused for anything else. I still had difficulties in taking in what had just happened.

"I will," I finally promised. "I'll be back as soon as I can. And you've got to be careful as well."

"Of course I will," she told me. "I'll use the time to do some thinking. Maybe I'll even think about us."

I didn't know whether that prospect made it harder or easier for me to leave. All I knew was that somehow I managed to drag myself out of the door, stopping briefly in the kitchen to get the butcher's address. In general I knew that address, just like I knew most details about Christine's life, but the kiss had made me forget it.

The kiss… I had planned to think about different strategies to make the butcher talk while I was on my way to him, but now my mind was busy with something else. Why had she kissed me, when I had told her not to? Well, strictly speaking she hadn't broken any of the rules she or I had set. She had neither approached me at night not showed her feelings in front of others.

Actually I didn't even know what kinds of feelings were behind that kiss. Was it love or at least affection? Probably yes. People rarely kissed those they hated. Yet that didn't tell me anything new. Of course Christine didn't hate me. Maybe it had simply been a display of friendship. Friends kissed each other when they said goodbye, didn't they? Yet while I didn't have a lot of experience in the area of friendship, I couldn't imagine that friends kissed each other like that.

It hadn't felt like the kiss of a friend either. It had felt… oh, it had felt wonderful, warm and soft and exciting. The mere memory made my body tingle. Yet admittedly it was possible that it had only felt like that for me, who had almost buried the hope of getting close to her in the nearer future. Who knew what it had felt like for her?

I was so absorbed in my pondering that I almost walked past the house in which the butcher's shop had to be. I looked up and down the building, only to find… nothing. There wasn't as much as a sign at the door. Either this butcher was working in secret or… I checked the address and could have slapped myself. It was the right number, but the wrong street. All that thinking had made me take a wrong turning. That had never happened to me before, _never_.

I glanced around nervously, yet no one seemed to have noticed my mistake.This was rather logical, given the fact that they didn't know where I wanted to go. Quickly I walked away into the direction which I had come from, shaking my head. Well, this was not the first time that a single kiss had led me astray.

After a few minutes of walking and trying to think of nothing in particular I reached the right house. I knew it immediately, for a woman just left it with a bag just like the one I had disposed of not too long ago. I could only hope that the contents of hers were not the same as of mine. I caught the door before it closed and entered the shop.

A man was standing behind the counter. He had to be about fifty years old. There was little hair left on his head, but his black beard was thick and well-groomed. He was rather tall, too, maybe one or two inches shorter than myself. Apart from him, the shop was empty. This was very good, for it enabled me to speak openly without having to wait. I cleared my throat, and the man looked up.

"Good day, Monsieur," he greeted me with a smile. If the mask on my face irritated him, he didn't show it. "How can I help you? Do you already know what you want to buy, or would you like me to recommend you something? Today we've got very nice – "

"I'm not interested in meat at the moment," I interrupted him. I took a few steps forwards, till only the counter separated us. Like this, I didn't have to speak up, and it would be easy to stop in case someone entered the shop. "I'd like to talk to you about a certain event that took place this morning at the de Chagny estate. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about…"

The butcher's eyes narrowed.

"Oh yes, I know," he growled, the smile slipping from his face like butter from a hot potato. "But I won't have all that again." Quickly he grabbed a large knife from the counter and pressed the tip of it against my throat. "Marie!" he called over his shoulder. "I've got another one here. Go and fetch the police!"


	98. Chapter NinetyEight

**Chapter Ninety-Eight**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

I heard a door being opened and closed again somewhere at the back of the building and assumed that Marie, whoever she was, had gone to fetch the police. Yet that mattered little to me at the moment. My attention was on the cold piece of metal at my throat. I felt a sharp pain and realised the tip of the blade had just broken my skin.

It was then that I decided I had enough. The butcher had had his moment of power, and I knew better than most people how important that could be. Yet I wouldn't let him hurt me, just for the sake of being friendly. I took a step backwards, and since the counter was between us, he couldn't reach me anymore.

In a futile attempt to get to me again he lunged forwards. I couldn't tell whether he wanted to jump over the counter or push it aside with his weight, but it didn't matter, for his action had neither the one nor the other effect. It was clear that he had never done this before, or he would have known about and avoided the painful consequences. His legs as well as his most private part collided with the solid wood with a sound that made even me wince in sympathy. He gave a yelp of pain. Instinctively his hands moved downwards, and he dropped the knife.

If the man hadn't threatened me with that very knife moments before, I'd have laughed out loud. Yet under the given circumstances I didn't feel like laughing. Even though I had known all the time how to get out of the situation, I was still a little upset. It had been a while since the last time someone had held a knife to my throat.

"Now that we've put the fighting part behind us, could we talk like normal people?" I asked, rummaging in my pockets for a handkerchief. Meanwhile, my left hand was grasping the Punjab Lasso tightly under my cloak. I didn't want to use it, but one could never know. There were still other knives lying around.

Yet apparently the butcher had abandoned all plans to attack me. He was watching the progress of my right hand nervously, as if he expected me to do something much more sinister than trying to cover my wound.

"We don't have to talk," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "I know what you're here to do. Where do you want me to stand?"

I threw him an incredulous glance. He had clearly sounded frightened. I rarely frightened people without doing anything these days. Sure, at the opera I didn't need my Lasso to instill fear in others, but they all knew what I was capable of, even if I didn't threaten them directly. Yet this man didn't know who I was, I was almost certain of it. And why was he talking about where I wanted him to stand?

"It seems that you know the reason for my visit better than I do," I remarked, pulling out the handkerchief. The wound wasn't much bigger than an insect bite, and just one or two drops of blood were oozing out of it. I pressed the piece of cloth onto it for a moment, then put it away again. "So could you tell me, please?"

"You want to shoot me," he replied, in the flat voice of a man speaking his last words.

This answer only made me more confused.

"But I never said anything about shooting you," I muttered. "I don't even have a pistol with me. It's not my weapon of choice, so to speak." I gave him a lopsided smile, yet the pacifying intention was lost on him.

"So you're going to kill me in a different way?" he whispered. "I heard being shot is at least fast…"

I sighed. Why did everybody think I wanted to kill someone today?

"I am not going to kill you in any way," I told him more patiently than I felt. "Did you hear me? I am not going to kill you."

"Really?" the butcher breathed. "Oh, thank you, Lord!" He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his hand and leaned against the wall behind him, seemingly completely exhausted.

"Why did you think I wanted to kill you?" I asked. He looked around in the shop nervously, as if he were afraid someone was hiding in a corner and could overhear us. After a moment's consideration he walked to the door and locked it. Then he came back to me. I noticed that he took his old position behind the counter. Apparently he still didn't trust me very much. Yet at least he was talking to me.

"This morning, before we opened the shop, a man came here, knocking at the door until we let him in," he started. "He said he knew that the de Chagny family had ordered something for today and told us not to bring it to them. Instead, the boy who does our deliveries should take a very special bag to them. The man filled it himself, with the most disgusting intestines he could find among the parts we threw away. Then he accompanied the boy to the door and said that if we warned the de Chagnys or anything else went wrong, he'd send someone to kill me."

"And when I came in and mentioned the incident, you thought your last hour had come," I finished his story, feeling a little guilty that I had caused the butcher to fear for his life. "I can assure you that everything went to that man's despicable plan. The poor cook was nearly frightened to death."

"Oh no!" he exclaimed. "She's such a nice lady. I'm so sorry… I would have never done something like that, but the man had a pistol. It was big and shiny."

"And how did he look like except for the pistol?" I wanted to know. If it had been the same young man the beggar had seen, this was my chance to get a better description.

"Well, he was an elderly man," the butcher replied, his face screwed up in concentration. "He must have been as old as you are." I snorted, not used to being called ´elderly´. "He had grey hair and was rather short for a man. That's all I remember."

"Did he say anything about who had sent him or why he wanted to do that?" I asked, although I knew that question was little more than grasping at straws. It wasn't very likely that the man had given reasons for his actions. People who carried pistols rarely saw the need to do so.

"No," the butcher answered, shaking his head. "He just said it was something personal between him and the de Chagnys. Does this help you?"

I thought about it for a moment.

"He really mentioned the complete family?" I muttered. "Not just the Comte or his wife?"

"The whole family," he assured me. "I still remember it because I found it peculiar. From what I hear – and I hear a lot – they're a very nice family. I can't imagine them having enemies or – "

In this moment the door leading to the back part of the building burst open and a woman came in. Her dark hair had probably once been tied in a bun, but now strands of it were hanging onto her shoulders.

"I couldn't find a policeman in the street," she called, even before she entered the room. "And I didn't want to be gone too long. Are you still having him under control?" It was only then that she noticed we were just standing there, talking, without any kind of weapon drawn. "What has happened?" she asked warily.

"Everything is all right," he told her. "This man has nothing to do with all that. He won't kill me."

The woman's eyes widened, and a smile spread across her face. She ran over to the butcher and flung her arms around him.

"Oh, thank you, thank you," she whispered, probably to no one in particular. She kissed him on the mouth and the cheeks and any other part of his face.

I glanced to the side, pretending to be very interested in the different kinds of knives lying on a table. I wasn't too comfortable with watching those two people kissing. It only made memories of the kiss Christine and I shared before I had left wallow up inside me. I suppressed them. There was no time for such things now.

After a while the outburst of emotions seemed to be over, and they let go of each other.

"I hope you excuse our behaviour, Monsieur," the butcher said with a sheepish grin. "Marie can be a little emotional at times. Oh… that's Marie, my wife, by the way. And this gentleman had some questions about the incident of this morning because… why _did_ you have those questions?"

"I'm a friend of the family," I replied simply.

"Have you told him about the man then, Gilles?" Marie asked her husband. "About the grey hair and the scar?"

"A scar?" I repeated, unable to hide my excitement. There were many elderly men with grey hair, but not many of them had scars.

Marie nodded eagerly.

"Yes, he had a scar on his right hand. It went all over the back of it, as if someone had cut him with a kife a long time ago. I could see it clearly while he was brandishing the pistol."

"Was there anything else? About the way he was dressed, for instance?" I wanted to know. Now that I was getting some good answers, I could also think of more questions. I'd have never asked the butcher about clothing, for I knew men scarcely paid attention to such things.

"He was dressed like a poor man," she replied. "Not like a beggar – just like a man who doesn't have enough money to buy new clothes and wash them very often. I'm sure he doesn't have a wife who cares for him." She brushed a little dust off her husband's shoulder.

"I see," I said slowly, taking in all the different pieces of information and putting them at the back of my mind to look at them later. "If you remember anything else, send a message to the de Chagny estate. Goodbye and thank you for your help."

I had already turned to leave when the woman held me back and handed me a bag.

"What's in there?" I asked suspiciously.

"It's just the meat that the cook of the de Chagnys ordered," she explained. "I don't want to be responsible for her having to cook vegetables only."

Quickly I looked into the bag. It contained nothing but meat. Breathing a sigh of relief I thanked Marie again and bid farewell to both of them. I hadn't solved the mystery yet, but I had at least come a little closer.


	99. Chapter NinetyNine

**Chapter Ninety-Nine**

**September 17th 1892: **_Christine_

Meg arrived early. Several hours early, to be precise. That in itself was rather unusual, for she tended to be the one to arrive just on time. And here she was now, standing at my door, and it wasn't even noon yet.

"Is anyone there?" she called, knocking at the door impatiently. The reason for her impatience was clear: She had already knocked a few times, but I could only let her in now, after I had peered through a window and had made sure it was really her. These days I couldn't afford being careless anymore.

"You should think about hiring a new butler," was the first thing she said when I finally opened the door. "I know your Jacques has been in Raoul's employment for years, but he doesn't seem to hear very well anymore. Or why do you have to take over his tasks?" She winked at me, and I smiled, realising how much I had missed her sense of humour.

"Oh, it's good to see you!" I exclaimed, pulling her into a brief embrace with one arm, while the other one closed the door quickly.

"It's also good to see you," she remarked. "How long has it been since the last time we met, just the two of us?"

"A few weeks, maybe?" I muttered. "Too long, that much is certain."

"That's why I came a little sooner," Meg explained. "I know that once Antoinette will be home, we won't have time for talking anymore. So I left the rehearsal early. Maman didn't mind. She was working on a scene in which I'm not on stage anyway. Is it all right if I invite myself to lunch here? I could eat in a restaurant, of course, but it would be nicer here with you and the children."

I needed a moment to understand all the pieces of information she had hurled at me within seconds.

"Sometimes I think Antoinette should be your daughter instead of mine," I commented. "She has the same way of talking."

"Well, I've been around her too often since her birth. I spoiled her," she gave back, far from being hurt. She was aware that I didn't mind her talking that much. It was just one of her habits.

"Let me have a look at you," she then demanded, stepping backwards to take in my whole appearance. "You don't look good," she remarked after a few moments of examining me critically. "Where do those dark rings under your eyes come from? Didn't you sleep well last night?"

"That's one of the reasons," I started cautiously. There was so much Meg didn't know about.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly, and I could practically see the fast-talking, vivacious woman vanish behind the caring best friend. It was then that I realised something: I wanted to talk about it. I wanted to spread out all the things that had happened. Maybe they'd make more sense to her than they did to me.

"It's a very long story," I warned her.

She gave me a warm smile.

"I'm not going anywhere," she told me, gently steering me down the corridor.

I didn't know how much time passed while we were sitting in the living room, and I was talking. I had started the moment I had closed the door behind us, and I didn't plan to stop before everything was out. So far, I hadn't even offered Meg something to drink. She wasn't complaining about it, though. She listened and listened, watching me intently, while I talked and talked, looking out of the window most of the time. Only sometimes I threw her a brief glance to make sure she was still following my story. She was indeed following it.

At last I was finished, having only left out a few minor, embarrassing details.

"And all that happened to you during the last weeks?" she muttered weakly. "I can't believe it. The most interesting thing that happened at my home in that time was our housekeeper falling from a chair while trying to clean the top shelf of the cupboard in the kitchen and spraining her wrist."

"Believe me – if I could choose, I'd rather take the housekeeper with the sprained wrist than all that," I said with a wry smile. "It sounds far less complicated."

"Oh, I don't know," she gave back with a hint of a grin. "She complains all the time because she can't do her work as quickly as usual, and – But that's not the point now. We're talking about you, not my housekeeper."

I gave a little sigh. I should have known she wouldn't fall for that simple method of diversion.

"So, what do you have to say about all this?" I asked. If I couldn't avoid hearing her opinion, I could at least try to get over with it quickly.

"About what specifically?" she gave back. "The situation you're in consists of too many components to be talked about in one or two sentences. Do you want my opinion on the attacks first or on the dilemma with Raoul and Erik?"

"The former," I replied. "It's the easier one." There surely weren't many people who thought that talking about attacks on a family was easier than about two men, yet I seemed to be one of them. At least I knew what to feel about the former. It was far less confusing. The attacks were bad; everyone agreed about that.

"Well, I think it was right not to alert the police," Meg said. "They won't do anything as long as nothing serious happens." I opened my mouth to contradict her, but she simply continued speaking. "I know it's serious for you. I also take it seriously, don't worry about that. Yet for policemen it would be different. They'd regard the whole thing as the act of someone who is angry at Raoul or you. I'd be surprised if they even sent one of their men here to have a look around, especially since there's nothing to see anymore. The window panes have been replaced, and you've buried the bird and thrown away the bag."

"Should we have kept it?" I asked incredulously.

"Of course not," she assured me. "I'd have done the same. I'm just saying that they probably wouldn't believe you."

"I know," I muttered. "I'm just so very frightened, also because of the children. They haven't noticed anything so far, but it's only a matter of time till something happens right in front of them. Oh, I don't want them to get involved. Philippe is easily scared anyway, and Antoinette… I'd hate it if she lost her vivacity."

"They could come to me," she offered with a smile. "I wouldn't mind having them around for a couple of days."

"That's very nice of you, but it's impossible," I declined her offer. "What if the person responsible for all this saw the children leave and went after them? No, they're safer here with Erik."

She gave me a knowing smile.

"You're also feeling safer with Erik, don't you?" she asked teasingly. I remembered that certain undertone in her voice. She had spoken just like that when the relationship between Raoul and me and begun to form.

"Well, yes," I admitted. "I feel safe with him. If there's one person who can protect us, it's Erik."

"But that's not all," Meg said. It was a statement that didn't leave any room for doubts. "After all that you've just told me…"

My gaze fell upon the floor. Several moments passed in silence. I only glanced up when she seized my hand.

"No matter what it is that's going on inside you, you can tell me," she encouraged me. "I'm your best friend. I'd never say a word about it to Raoul… or anyone else, not even to my mother. Your secrets are safe with me."

I took a deep breath.

"I… I do feel attracted to Erik," I confessed, suppressing the urge to make the sign of the cross like in a confession in church. "I… oh, I even suggested that we make love." By now, my voice had dropped to a whisper.

"_Oh_," Meg made. "And what did he say about it?"

"He rejected me," I replied miserably. "He told me he wanted a complete relationship, not just the physical part. If he had me once, he'd never let me go."

Again, there was silence. Then she said:

"So you know what he wants: you. But what do you want? You've got to think about this carefully, Christine. A wedding ring doesn't stop anyone from being attracted to others. Take me, for example: I often meet handsome men at the opera, but I know I'd never leave Jean for one of them. I have a feeling it could be different for you, though. So… would you leave Raoul for Erik?".


	100. Chapter One Hundred

**Author's note:** Today is a big day for me. It's rare for an author to write a story with one hundred chapters, so allow me to enjoy this moment… Okay, I'm finished. What does Chapter One Hundred mean for you? Well, since I get so much fun and so many ideas from reading your reviews, I've decided to give something back to you. We'll have a **contest**. All you've got to do to enter it is answer one question: **Who is responsible for the attacks on the de Chagnys?** Please don't send me answers like "The old man and the young man", for you know that's not what I mean. I want a name or names, or at least a description in terms of relation (the husband of/ the sister of etc.). You can start guessing right now, but I advise you to wait a little, for there will be more clues in later chapters. Each reader can send in one (!) guess (via PM, please), and it cannot be changed later. The contest will end when the person responsible will be revealed in the story, but I'm not sure when that'll be. I'll tell you a few days before it'll happen, so that you have your chance to send in your guess. Of course you can **win** something: The person who sends me the right name gets a one-shot with their favourite pairing (no self-inserts, though) written by me. If there's more than one correct answer… well, then I'll be a busy girl, for I've decided to write one story for every person who has the right answer. Have fun guessing and don't forget to review! To the next hundred chapters! May they be just as good as this one...

**Chapter One Hundred**

**September 17th 1892: **_Christine_

"I… I don't know," I muttered, entirely confused by her question. "I really don't know it," I repeated, just to hear it once more. It sounded good. Yes, as long as I didn't know it, no one could argue with me about it. Not knowing something wasn't a crime, was it? It was normal. Many people didn't know things, and they –

Yet one glance into Meg's face told me she wouldn't let me get away that easily.

"I don't believe you," she said flatly. "This is not one of the things one cannot know. I think you've just not searched for the answer very well yet. Your heart already knows it. And by the time I'll be finished with you, your mind will know it as well." It almost sounded like a threat.

"Can't we just change the subject?" I asked quickly. "It's really not that important. Why don't you tell me the latest gossip from the opera?"

"I won't do that," she replied simply. I looked for the usual mischievous sparkle in her eyes, but couldn't see it. She was very serious. In this moment I knew that arguing was pointless.

"What are you going to do with me?" I wanted to know, feeling a little nervous.

"There is a method for making decisions my mother taught me," she answered. "It's not difficult. All you've got to do is imagine the consequences of your action in all details." She looked at me expectantly, yet I remained sceptical.

"That's the opposite of what Erik told me," I couldn't help remarking, remembering the day when Raoul and he had tried to force me to make a decision. "He said I should forget everything else and only listen to my heart."

"Hmm…" Meg made. "But that didn't work too well, did it? You still haven't made a decision both your heart and your mind can accept. So why don't you try my method? My mother always says that the listening to your heart approach sounds good in theory, yet unless someone lives in a deserted place without anybody else, there are a lot of things to consider. The best decisions are made by people who have thought about them carefully before."

I nodded slowly. She did have a good point. Besides, what did I have to lose? A little additional pondering wouldn't make my head explode. And it was very nice of Meg to try and help me with more than a few stupid remarks. For the first time I didn't feel alone with my decision. That was surely because my best friend was not one of the persons directly involved in the conflict. No matter whom I chose, it would at least not hurt _her_ feelings. That was a small comfort.

"What would happen if I chose Erik?" I murmured, just to show I had started thinking about the question at last. "Well, I guess I'd move into his house at the underground lake. He still has my old room there. In the evenings we'd sit together and sing, or he'd play the organ for me. I'd love to hear him play again; he does it so wonderfully." I gave a deep sigh.

"But would you really enjoy living underground?" she asked, bringing me back to earth. "I know how much you like the sunshine. And what about a garden? Your beloved roses wouldn't grow there."

"That's true," I admitted. "Maybe he'd give up his house for me and only come back there every now and then, when he'd have things to do at the opera. We could have a house above ground, somewhere in a suburb of Paris, where gardens are large and fences are high. No one would stare at him in such surroundings."

"And the children?"

Her question made me jump. For a few moments I had actually forgotten them.

"Of course I'd take them with me," I replied. "Erik wouldn't mind. On the contrary: He loves them as if they were his own children. And perhaps…"

"…perhaps you'd have children with him as well one day," Meg finished my sentence.

I nodded, blushing. That was exactly what I had just thought.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, it would be nice," I answered. "It would also be nice to have the part that comes before being with child…"

Now Meg's cheeks were slightly redder than usual as well.

"It's good to know that you're adopting my frankness in talking," she muttered weakly, yet her eyes darted through the room and stopped at the door. When we had been younger, we had gossiped about such things all the time, but now we were married women. We had a reputation to lose. Yet since the door was locked, my friend grew calm again. "Well, you'd get that part of a relationship as well then," she said. "Do you know what it would be like?"

"How am I supposed to know that?" I asked. "I've never even seen Erik… you know, without clothes. So far, we've just kissed a little… and touched each other a little…"

"Yes, but what do you imagine it would be like?" she persisted. I felt as if we were young girls again, chatting about men in excited voices.

"I think it would be nice," I replied.

"Just nice?" Meg raised an eyebrow.

"Well, maybe a bit more than that," I admitted. As if someone had given the signal, we both burst into laughter.

We laughed long, a girlish, high-pitched laughter no one would have suspected to come from women such as ourselves. It only stopped when I brushed a strand of hair off my forehead and my skin came into contact with my wedding ring. I held my hand in front of my eyes, as if I were seeing it for the first time. The ring's pale gold colour was glistening in the sunlight.

"Raoul," I breathed. I was shocked by the realisation that while I hadn't thought of my children for only a few moments, I had forgotten my husband all the time.

Meg grew serious as well.

"That's another factor, of course," she stated. "And it's more important than most others, even than the legal problems. If you go to Erik, you'd have to leave Raoul."

"He wouldn't be able to cope with that," I whispered, all joy having left my body. "We're married for more than ten years. We've got two children together… Oh, the children!" I threw Meg an anxious glance. "I'd have to take them away from their father. It would break their hearts… and his, too. I… I couldn't do that… I just… couldn't…"

The world grew blurred in front of my eyes as I thought about the life I had just imagined in all details… the life of Erik and me… the life I'd never have. It had been such a beautiful dream, and now it was gone, vanished like a rainbow after the rain ended. Before I knew what was happening, raindrops were rolling down my cheeks. No, it were tears. So I was crying.

Slowly my best friend's voice became audible through the mist that seemed to envelop my head.

"…true that it would be difficult for your family," she said. "But at the end of the day, it's your decision, the decision about your life, and you shouldn't make it in the way that you think best for your family, but for yourself. You're the one who'll have to live with it."

"And what was that talking about ´considering all the consequences´ for, when in the end just my heart decides?" I asked, unable to keep a slightly bitter undertone out of my voice.

"I never said it was a perfect method," she defended her approach. "But it made a few things clear for you, didn't it?"

I nodded.

"I know now that no matter what I do, I'll hurt someone," I told her, wiping the tears from my eyes with my fingers. "Erik, Raoul, the children… and in any case I'll hurt myself. But that's all right. After all, I'm responsible for the trouble." I gave a sigh. "If only I knew what living with Erik would be like! There are so many ´maybes´ in my fantasy…" I muttered.

Meg frowned.

"I've just had an idea, but it's rather unusual," she warned me. "While Erik lives here, he has taken over the role of your husband. As far as I've understood it, that's what he wanted anyway. Then why don't you do it completely? Give him all the privileges a husband has… but also the duties."

"That's a good idea, Meg," I said. "I'd do it at once. The problem is that Erik would never agree with it. It would be even harder to let me go after a few days than after a single night."

"Yet maybe he wouldn't have to let you go at all," she pointed out. "Don't you think he'd regard it as a unique chance?"

"Yes, I would." A voice from the door made us nearly fall from our chairs. Erik crossed the room quickly and knelt down in front of me. "I've heard enough to know what you were talking about," he assured me. Then he seized my right hand and removed the wedding ring in an elegant, fluid motion, placing it on the table.

"Christine Daaé," he started, his voice as soft as velvet. "A long time ago I allowed the boy and you to play a very special game. You pretended to be engaged under the roof of my opera. Will you allow me to play a similar game with you now, till your husband comes back?" He showed me his right hand, and for the first time I noticed that he was still wearing both rings, his one and the one I had given back to him on the first night of ´Don Juan Triumphant´. He took off mine and brought it to my finger, but stopped before gold and skin touched. "Christine Daaé, will you be my wife?" he whispered.


	101. Chapter One Hundred And One

**Author's note:** Thanks for the loads of reviews I received! I also got two guesses, which I've already written down. Oh, and here's the answer to a question someone asked me: The person or persons responsible for the attacks has or have been mentioned in the story.

**Chapter One Hundred and One**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

I held my breath while I waited for her reply. I couldn't blame her for being startled by my sudden appearance and taking time with the answering. It was possible that I had had the same confused expression on my face when I had stood at the door to the living room, eager to tell Christine what I had found out. Yet in the end her revelations had been much more interesting than mine could have ever been.

I had never been one to waste a good chance, and this chance had been very good. So I had proposed to a married woman. Other people would have thought me insane. But then, they already did that, without knowing what I had just done. Moreover, Christine was no longer a married woman in my eyes. By taking off her wedding ring I had interrupted her marriage. If she accepted my proposal, she'd be my wife. _If_ she accepted it…

The seconds stretched till each of them resembled a small eternity. The fingers that were holding the ring started shaking slightly as I grew more and more nervous. Why didn't she say something? Was it so difficult? She just had to say one word: yes. She had told her friend that she agreed with her plan, so it was clear that she'd say yes… or wasn't it?

At last she cleared her throat.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I want to be your wife, Erik. I'm sorry that I didn't say it sooner, but I… I had certain problems with my throat… I couldn't get a word out…"

"That doesn't matter now, my love," I told her. "All that matters is that you said yes." I knew those problems with the throat only too well, for I suffered from them myself. There was a big lump in my throat, which only dissolved when a steady trickle of tears began to make its way down my cheeks.

Christine was crying as well, but for once that sight didn't break my heart, for those were tears of happiness. I reached up and wiped them off with my handkerchief. It was a little awkward because I had to do it with my right hand, but I didn't want to let go of the ring. She smiled down at me gratefully, and her smile was so bright that it made my heart swell with joy. All I wanted to do now was kiss her. I straightened up and –

"Excuse me." The voice of Meg Giry made me stop. But wait – she had a different name now. It was no longer Giry, but… Tavoire. During the last moments I had quite forgotten that anyone but my beloved and me existed in the world, so why was I thinking about her friend's name? I tried to glare at the young woman, but couldn't do it. I was too happy to be angry at her. "I didn't want to interrupt you, but I've been to a lot of weddings, and I know for a fact that the ring comes before the kissing," she went on. "Even though nothing else is ordinary about this union, you can at least do things in the right order."

I nodded. Briefly I used the handkerchief for my own face, so that I could see clearly again. Then I slipped the ring onto Christine's finger.

"Perfect," I breathed. "Just perfect." At last, after more than ten years, the ring was at its right place again. I held my hand next to hers, and we looked at the two rings. Yes, it was indeed perfect.

Now that the formal part was over, nothing could keep me from kissing her. I stood up quickly and pulled her to her feet as well. Wrapping my arms around her I brought my lips to hers. It was exactly how our first kiss should have been. There was no fear or pity on her side, and no anxiety or helplessness on mine. Just like the ring, it was perfect.

The kiss lasted for a long time. It was as if we just couldn't get away from each other. And without even speaking about it, we knew that our letters were forgotten. We wouldn't stay away from each other, neither at day nor at night. And even though we'd still have to be careful about how much affection to show in public, it was clear that we wouldn't be as cold as Christine had tried to be this morning.

After a while we managed to stop kissing. Hearing Mme.Tavoire blow her nose, I turned around.

"This is so romantic," she sighed, stuffing her handkerchief back into the pocket of her skirt.

"I hope you know that if you ever tell someone you've seen me cry, I'd have to kill you… for the sake of my reputation," I muttered.

"I'll bear that in mind," she promised me, but the smile didn't leave her face. I couldn't tell whether she took my threat seriously. At the moment I couldn't even tell whether _I_ took my threat seriously. There was no space left in my head to think about murder.

"So, what do we do now?" I asked enthusiastically. After the events of the last minutes I felt as if I could manage any task.

"Well, usually there would be a celebration now," Meg informed me. "But in your case I guess you'll have to be content with a simple lunch. I wonder whether the cook is already in the kitchen. Maybe I should go to her and check what she's doing." It couldn't have been more obvious that she was looking for an excuse to get away, so that we'd have a little privacy. I liked her more with every moment. Maybe I should even start referring to her by her first name in the future. She got up from her seat and went to the door.

"There's a bag with meat on the little table in the corridor," I called after her. "You can give it to the cook. Tell her this time nothing is wrong with it." Meg nodded and left.

Looking at my beloved again I noticed a slight frown on her face.

"What is it, love?" I wanted to know softly. "Aren't you happy? Would you… would you have rather not done this? Do you this it was a mistake?" Merely uttering those questions hurt me. For once, I was happy and content with the world. So why couldn't it be the same for her?

"I am happy," she assured me, giving me a smile. "But I'm also confused. I can't understand why you agreed with all that. Didn't you say that you either wanted all of me or nothing?"

"That's true," I replied. "But I have all of you now… at least for a while. Maybe it was wrong to demand a whole lifetime at your side. I wouldn't be able to cope with so much happiness. I barely know how to cope with the amount of it I'm experiencing at the moment."

"You'll get used to it," she said gently. "After a little while you'll hardly remember what's so special about it."

"Never," I told her firmly. "I'll never forget the overwhelming joy of this moment, and of those to follow it. I asked for being treated as your husband in this house, and now I truly am your husband. It's unbelievable."

"Oh, tonight you'll start believing it," she whispered, her cheeks growing rosy. Noticing that she was no longer looking into my eyes I realised what she was referring to and began to feel very warm myself.

"You mean tonight we'll…?" I couldn't bring myself to saying it. What if I hadn't understood her correctly?

She nodded.

"Tonight will be our wedding night," she muttered. "We'll do everything a bride and groom do in that night… unless you don't want to, that is."

"Of course I want to," I said quickly, before she could change her mind. "But do you want it as well? Or do you just think it's your duty as my wife?"

"I want it," she answered simply, placing my hands on her waist.

The next minutes passed in a mixture of kisses and caresses that could only be discribed as very pleasant. It definitely served to whet my appetite for the night. Our wedding night… it almost sounded too good ot be true.

We only stopped when we heard a murmur of voices in the corridor, growing louder slowly. I recognised Philippe's and Meg's voices as well as the cook's.

"We should better go to them, before they come in here to look for us," I suggested half-heartedly.

Christine gave a sound of protest and disappointment, but nodded reluctantly a moment later.

"How will we behave in front of the others?" she asked.

"We won't do anything differently," I replied. "For the others, we'll still be nothing but friends."

"But we know better," she whispered, holding her hand next to mine once more. It seemed that, just like myself, she couldn't get enough of the sight.

"It's good that my ring almost looks like the Vicomte's, or you'd have to take it off," I remarked. And it was true, the rings were nearly identical. Mine was made of a shinier material, yet unless someone looked very closely, the difference would never be spotted. Christine pocketed the other ring cautiously, and we left the room hand in hand… as husband and wife.


	102. Chapter One Hundred and Two

**Chapter One Hundred and Two**

**September 17th 1892: **_Christine_

I had walked down this corridor thousands of times, yet it had never felt like that. It bore a strange resemblance to walking down the aisle in church after getting married. And in a way, that was what had just happened. So I figured it could as well feel like it. It seemed to be the same for Erik, for he was walking more proudly than usual, his head held high and his hand grasping mine firmly.

Walking around the corner I saw Philippe standing next to Meg.

"It was boring in my room, so I came downstairs," he explained when he spotted us. "I'm sorry. I know you told me to stay in my room and practice reading… but I finished the whole chapter." The excitement and pride was clearly audible in his voice during the last words. I, on the other hand, felt a little guilty. I had kept my son company for a while after Erik had gone and listened to him reading, but after Meg had come, I hadn't gone upstairs a second time.

"That's fantastic, my boy," Erik praised him, offering him his other hand. An attentive child such as Antoinette would have noticed right away that we were holding hands and would have asked a million questions. Yet Philippe wasn't that perceptive yet. He seized his Uncle Erik's hand and smiled up at him.

Only Meg had obviously noticed it, for she gave me a slight grin. For a second I was afraid she might comment on it, yet when she opened her mouth, she merely said:

"The cook was delighted about receiving the meat. She was already starting to get worried about what to serve for lunch. The good thing is that while she was worried, she made a chocolate cake for dessert to make up for the lack of meat in the main course. So we'll have both meat and a chocolate cake now. Isn't that nice?".

We all nodded. A cake for dessert… yes, that sounded like the kind of meal served after a wedding. Without knowing it, Larisse had done us a favour. Philippe licked his lips in anticipation. He didn't like chocolate cake quite as much as strawberry cake, but it was among his favourites.

"When will the lunch be ready?" Erik asked as we made our way to the dining room.

"In about ten minutes' time," Meg replied. "I hope you're not too hungry yet."

"I can wait," he assured her.

When we had sat down in the dining room, Erik and my son started a conversation about the chapter Philippe had read in his book. Meg and I had chosen seats at one of the windows, which was on the other side of the room, so that we could talk without being overheard. I was aware that Erik was probably able to hear us anyway, but I didn't mind. It was mainly Philippe I was worried about. I didn't want him to find out that his teacher had more or less become his temporary father.

"So?" my best friend asked in a low voice, throwing me an expectant glance. "What happened after I left the room?"

"If you're so interested in that, why didn't you just stay and see it for yourself? It would have saved you the effort of asking," I couldn't help teasing her.

"Nothing would have happened if I had stayed," she said with a dismissive gesture. "The moment I saw you kissing I knew I had to get away. The last thing the two of you needed was a chaperone. A bed would have been more fitting…"

I blushed, glad that my back was facing my son.

"Did it really look that… that…?" I couldn't find the right word.

"No, I was just making a joke," she answered. "So you don't have to worry. You looked like two people who love each other and express that feeling. And I'd like to know how that expressing of feelings continued after the door closed behind me."

"Well, we decided that we'll express even more feelings tonight," I whispered. "If you know what I mean…"

Meg's eyes grew wide.

"Of course – the wedding night," she muttered. "How could I have forgotten the best part of the wedding?" She gave a chuckle. "This is so strange. Half an hour ago we were talking about how you imagine it to be, and now it'll really happen. Are you exicted?"

I leaned forwards a little more, hoping Erik couldn't hear me.

"Yes," I admitted. "Excited and rather anxious. What if he won't like it?"

"He loves you. Even in the unlikely case that he won't like it, he won't tell you," she pointed out. "Besides, he doesn't have a lot of experience with women, does he? He'll probably like whatever you will do with him…" She chuckled again, yet this time the sound made me angry.

"Don't talk about him like that!" I hissed. "Erik is not a beggar who has to take what he can get. I want him to enjoy it."

"Of course you do," she said hastily. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult him or you. It's just… Erik loves you, and he won't stop loving you because he doesn't enjoy sleeping with you. But he will enjoy it – I'm sure of it."

"You're right," I murmured, giving her a lopsided smile. I wished I could have been as sure as she was, but the truth was that I was still nervous. Yet I had realised it was not the kind of feeling that went away by talking about it. So I didn't say another word about the subject.

Meg looked a little suspicious, as if she didn't believe me entirely, yet the arrival of Larisse distracted her from any question she might have had.

"The food is nearly finished, so I've come to lay the table," she announced, placing a small pile of plates on the table. This was the sign to take our seats. Meg sat down on Antoinette's chair. Jacqueline and the girl would get something to eat at the house of her teacher, though I doubted it would be as delicious as the meal Larisse was preparing.

_Erik_

Once more, the meal was taken in silence, which was perfectly fine with me. As much as I usually enjoyed talking to Philippe, I couldn't have done so at the moment. My head was filled with the conversation of Christine and her friend that I had just overheard. I was aware that listening to them had been wrong, but I couldn't have helped it. At first I had merely heard single words, yet the moment my name had been mentioned I had grown more interested.

From that time on, my replies to my boy had become rather short and automatic. All my attention had been focused on my beloved. The things I had heard would have been enough to make a lesser man than me blush. Fortunately I had managed to remain calm, at least on the outside. Yet my patience had been tried when Meg had started speculating about my experience with women.

Cutting the meat on my plate into little pieces without thinking about what I was doing, I recalled a rather unpleasant event that had taken place at the opera a few years ago. Some chorus girls, who had been new in Paris and had just been told my story, had thought it very funny to make jokes about me. ´I bet the reason why he spies on everyone and sneaks around all the time is that he has never had a lady friend. He's lonely,´ one of them had shrieked. ´And it'll always stay like that. Who'd want to kiss a living corpse?´ Then they had all burst into laughter. For some reason they had not laughed when all their underwear had vanished the next day, only to be thrown onto stage during an important dress rehearsal in the presence of all patrons. It had taken hours to remove the words _Better a corpse than a harlot_ from the wall of their dressing room. I had thought it very amusing.

Yet even if Meg had known into which direction my thoughts had just gone, there wouldn't have been any reason for her to be worried. The emotion which made me chew the same bite over and over, simply because I kept forgetting I had already done so, was not anger. It was fear. Christine was afraid that she might disappoint me? The idea was ridiculous. Her friend had been right: I'd like whatever my beloved would do, simply because it would be her doing it.

But what about me? The chances that I'd disappoint her were much bigger. I had never done anything like that before, for Heaven's sake! The few kisses and caresses we had exchanged didn't count. The Vicomte had had ten years to find out what she liked. I didn't have that much time. It was obvious that I'd disappoint her.

"You hardly touched your food, M.Erik," the cook observed when she came to fetch the plates. "Didn't you like it?"

"It was delicious," I told her with a smile, even though I couldn't even have said what I had eaten. "I just wanted to… be able to take more of the dessert." Christine winked at me. Inwardly I groaned. That was not the kind of dessert I had had in mind.


	103. Chapter One Hundred and Three

**Chapter One Hundred and Three**

**September 17th 1892: **_Christine_

It was strange to think about it, but in a way the food had managed to do something Meg hadn't: I felt much calmer now. It was very hard to be worried when one's belly was filled with delicious chocolate cake. I was content with myself and the world and ready to believe that tonight would be a night to remember… and not in a negative way.

Still I couldn't help noticing that even though Erik had said he had been looking forward to eating the cake, not even half of his piece had vanished from the plate. He pushed the remaining part from one side to the other and finally gave it to Philippe, who devoured it happily. I wondered why Erik was looking so sad. He had been so happy abut our wedding, and now there didn't seem to be much left of that feeling.

It had to be the attacks. Yes, that was the only explanation. He was worried about what could happen and that he might not be able to protect us. I wanted to take that fear from him. Seeing his right hand lying on his thigh under the table I reached for it. He jumped slightly and looked over at me, as if he had been miles away with his thoughts. I gave him an encouraging smile.

"It'll be all right," I murmured. He merely threw me a sceptical glance. Apparently he was not that optimistic.

After Larisse had fetched the plates and everything else, we stayed at the table for a little while, discussing what to do next.

"Antoinette and Jacqueline will be here any minute," I informed the others. "My daughter and you will be busy all afternoon, won't you, Meg?" I addressed my friend.

"Oh yes," she replied. "Times always passes quickly once we've started practicing. The girl is such a joy to work with. Some of the dancers at the opera could take a leaf out of her book.. Few show such determination."

I smiled, recalling my own past as a member of the chorus. I had never liked dancing quite as much as singing, so I didn't blame the girls whose preferences were the same. Yet I also knew how annoying it was for Meg and Mme.Giry to work with people who actually wanted to do something different.

"I'm glad that Antoinette enjoys dancing," I said. "A girl as vivacious as her has to be kept in constant motion, or she would go insane."

"And she keeps me in constant motion," Meg remarked. "Sometimes I feel as if I were teaching a dozen girls. No one ever asked me that many questions before."

"But it's better to get used to it now, isn't it?" Erik joined the conversation. "One day you'll take over your mother's position at the opera." It was such an excellent observation that I couldn't help wondering why I hadn't thought about it before myself.

Meg looked a little surprised as well, yet after a moment she nodded.

"I know I can't stay a dancer for all times," she muttered pensively. "And my mother isn't getting any younger. She never complains about anything, of course, but I can feel it. Still… I'm sure she'll go on teaching as long as possible, just like I'll go on dancing as long as possible. And no matter what'll happen, I'll always teach Antoinette. If I stopped doing so, my mother would never forgive me. She hates talent being wasted."

This made us all smile. We knew Mme.Giry's opinion about such matters only too well. It occurred to me that she was like a link between the three of us. Meg was her daughter, of course, but Mme.Giry had more or less adopted me as her daughter as well, and in a way, even Erik was her child, or rather, her protégé.

"We should invite your mother to dinner one of these days," I suggested. "I'd like to see her again."

"Oh, you'll probably see her sooner than you think," Erik told me. "You know, we should go to the opera this afternoon, Philippe, you and I. It's time for another one of his lessons, and you're free to join us… unless you have other plans, that is…"

"No, I don't have any plans," I gave back. "Going to the opera will be nice. But we'll have to wait till Antoinette and Jacqueline return, or we won't have a coach."

"I wanted to do so anyway," he explained. "I won't leave the house before I can be sure they have come back alive and well."

"Why shouldn't they be alive and well?" Philippe asked, frowning.

"Oh… that was just a figure of speech," Erik replied hastily. "It's nothing to worry about."

I threw him a questioning glance. It was not like him to let something that important slip. There had to be a big problem bothering him, or he wouldn't have been that careless. I gave his hand a light squeeze. No matter what it was, we'd get through it together.

"So, we'll be going to the opera then," I repeated cheerfully, eager to change the subject. "I'm looking forward to being there again. But who else will be there, Meg? There are no rehearsals for the dancers, are there?"

"No," she replied. "The musicians will practice, though, and as far as I know, Signora Marchesi will have a singing lesson on stage. She likes having them there because she's in love with the sound of her own voice. But I don't have to tell you that, do I?"

"We're all aware of that sad fact," Erik remarked dryly. "Though I have yet to find a reason for it… That woman is a nightmare."

"Isn't she the one who pushed me out of her way once?" Philippe wanted to know. Once more, I was surprised about him. In one moment I had the impression that he wasn't listening to our conversation, and in the next one he showed that he hadn't missed a word.

"Yes, that's the woman we're talking about," I answered. "Are you still angry at her?"

"No," the boy said. "Uncle Erik made her pay for what she did to me." His casual comment was accompanied by a smile, as if it were a perfectly normal thing to say for a little child.

Meg and I glanced at Erik, who didn't seem to be irritated in the slightest. On the contrary: He looked rather pleased that his pupil had already taken over so much of his way of thinking. I, however, was not pleased at all. Yet I knew I couldn't discuss it now, in front of the child. Philippe wouldn't like it if I criticised his beloved Uncle Erik. I shook my head a little to indicate that my friend shouldn't say anything either. I could still bring up the topic later, once we'd be alone.

"That's good," I muttered, for I felt as if I had to comment on what my son had said. "So you won't mind seeing her at the opera. Maybe we can just cover our ears with our hands every time we come close to the stage," I added, making everyone chuckle.

We nearly missed Larisse entering the room.

"Excuse me for interrupting you, but there's someone at the door," she said. "You told me not to open it myself, but wait for M.Erik, Madame. So I've come here to get him."

"You've done just the right thing," Erik praised her as he stood up. We others followed him out into the corridor. My heart beat had sped up. I told myself that there was no reason for being frightened, for it most certainly were Antoinette, Jacqueline and Jacques at the door, but it didn't help much.

"Who's there?" Erik called.

"It is Jacques," the person standing outside replied. "I have fetched Mesdemoiselles Jacqueline and Antoinette from the little Mademoiselle's teacher. It would be very kind if you could open the door and let us enter." Hearing those words no one had the slightest doubt about who the man was. Even Erik didn't seemed to find it necessary to look through the window first. He opened the door right away.

"Did anything unusual happen?" Erik asked Jacques after the initial greetings were over. He seized the chance to talk to him while Antoinette was telling her brother about what she had learned today.

"No," the butler answered.

Erik nodded.

"We'd like to visit the opera this afternoon," he then told him. "But you deserve a little break first. Go to the kitchen. The cook will give you something to eat and drink."

"That's very nice of you, Monsieur," Jacques said and left.

"How long will you be gone?" Meg wanted to know. "Will we see each other again before my lesson will be over and I'll go home?"

"We'll certainly see each other," Erik replied firmly. "I want to make sure that you really arrive at your home unharmed. So I'll take you there in our coach."

Meg opened her mouth to argue, but he just went on:

"I know you have your coach here, but Jacques can drive it home for you and return together with me. The moment you entered this house, you've become part of my responsibility. We can't know what the attacker is up to. If anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself.".


	104. Chapter One Hundred and Four

**Chapter One Hundred and Four**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

On the journey to the opera there was only one question on my mind: Did Christine know what made me worried? When we had been at the table, I had sometimes had the impression that she knew about everything. After all, she had taken my hand and muttered: ´It'll be all right´. It was possible that it had referred to something else, but I couldn't imagine what that could have been.

Somehow she must have known I had overheared her conversation with her friend. Well, given the fact that she was aware of my excellent hearing, that was hardly surprising. Yet even if she had noticed I had eavesdropped on her, could she also know my thoughts about the subject? Could she sense my worries about not being good enough for her? And if she could, what did it mean for me?

I threw her a sideways glance, and she leaned against my side, snuggling up to me closely. Involuntarily I gave a content little sigh. It just felt too good not to enjoy it. Perhaps I would disappoint her, but that moment hadn't come yet. In the minutes while we drove to the opera I was simply happy. And since that didn't happen too often, I had to make the most of it.

When we arrived at the front of the opera, I gave the butler a sign to continue to the Rue Scribe entrance. The absence of the chorus girls meant fewer curious people than usual, but I couldn't afford to be careless. Entering the opera through the main entrance with Christine and Philippe could have caused a scandal. It was not as if I'd mind a scandal – I had been part of more than one – yet I had to consider my beloved's reputation.

I left the coach first and helped the two others out as well. Briefly I discussed with Jacques at which time he'd fetch us. I told him to drive straight home and make sure no one had opened a door or a window in the meantime. Then we approached the entrance. I was about to pull the key out of my pocket when I had an idea.

"Why don't you open the door, Philippe?" I suggested.

"With the key or without it?" the boy gave back, his smile telling me that he already knew the answer.

"What would be the point in doing it with the key?" I asked. "Anyone could do it like that. Show your mother what you've learned."

And that was what he did. Without hesitation he took out the small, wire-like object I had given him for such occasions and started working, slowly and methodically. Not even ten minutes later the door was open. Philippe turned around and gave us a triumphant smile.

"That was amazing, my boy!" I exclaimed. He had never been able to do it that quickly before. Admittedly that door wasn't very hard to open, compared to a few others inside the building. Still it was a very good achievement for a child.

"Yes, that was… amazing," Christine murmured, yet her voice gave away that she wasn't impressed at all. I couldn't understand her. Didn't she see what a talent her son possessed? Didn't it make her proud? It certainly made me proud. I felt closer to my boy than ever as we made our way into the opera, Christine following us.

I had been right: The fact that there was no rehearsal for the dancers didn't change a lot. The same people as usual rushed through the corridors, muttering to themselves or shouting instructions to those running behind them. Yet what I had initially thought to be a disadvantage was actually rather positive. No one paid attention to us. Seeing Philippe and me together was completely normal by now, and nobody stopped long enough to recognise Christine, let alone to wonder what she was doing here.

"What a lesson will we have today, Uncle Erik?" the boy asked.

""I haven't made up my mind yet," I replied. "It depends on what is going on here at the moment. If nothing interesting is happening, we'll go down to my house and study there. Your Maman could also get a cup of tea. But let's have a look around first."

The others nodded, and we continued our way to the heart of the building, the stage.

We hadn't seen any people with obvious eachaches yet, so I assumed Signora Marchesi had not started singing. I heard the faint sound of the orchestra, growing louder with every step we took. Then the sound stopped, only to start again a moment later. The orchestra was indeed practicing. I soon recognised the piece as a part of the second act of the current opera, and it still didn't sound much better than on the first night. I'd have to write a note to the conductor soon.

Yet at the moment I had other things to do. Writing notes was an excellent pastime for evening spent alone, but now I had company. We made our way past all important rooms and places at a leisurely stroll. Again, nothing happened that could have caused gossip. The people who walked past us either didn't notice us at all, or else they saw me first and chose not to have seen anything.

While we were walking, I pointed out various things to Philippe: tools that were lying around carelessly instead of having been put away properly, two stagehands smoking behind the stage. It were little things, yet I hoped they'd help him develop a sense of what was important. Even those little things could cause accidents which could ruin the opera. At the moment my boy was still too young to see those big connections, but one couldn't start early enough.

Philippe seemed to be very interested in everything I showed him. Antoinette was not the only one who was a pleasure to work with. Both children had a thirst for knowledge that amazed me. Yet Philippe had a certain quiet that made him even more appropriate to become my heir. I myself did have the ability to speak up, but I only did so if it was necessary. Sometimes being the quiet observer was very good as well.

My only worry was Christine. She was walking next to me, yet it seemed as if she'd have rather been somwhere else. I couldn't even tell whether she was listening to my explanations. Every now and then I tried to make her join the conversation, but my success was limited. A brief nod or one or two muttered words were the only response I received. Perhaps I should have tried harder, yet at the moment Philippe was my pupil. It was he I had to teach.

After about half an hour we came close to the stage again. By now, the sound of the orchestra had died away, which was good given the fact that the old mistakes had still been audible. Instead, there was obviously someone sitting at the piano now, doing a couple of warm up exercises for his fingers. Since the player would certainly not be needed to accompany the dancers, this could only mean one thing: The diva would start singing soon.

"I guess Signora Marchesi will begin to practice any moment now," I told the others. "Would you like to listen to her a little? Sometimes pleasure comes from feeling superior to others…" I winked at Christine. Maybe this would make her more cheerful. I was even willing to make a few rude remarked, just to see her smile. Of course that would have to happen in a very low voice, so that Philippe wouldn't hear it. That was not the kind of thing I wanted him to learn from me.

Christine shrugged.

"Yes, we could do that," she replied in a voice that sounded far from excited. Yet I wouldn't give up that quickly. I was determined to cheer her up. Quickly I pulled open the door leading to the auditorium, bowing deeply as she walked past me. Yet she didn't even seem to notice it. No smile appeared on her face, no friendly word came over her lips.

I led the others to the first row. Box Five would have been more comfortable, yet for just a few minutes this would be enough. A moment after we had taken our seats Signora Marchesi entered the stage. She wore a bright blue dress and had wrapped herself in a scarf that was just a shade lighter. I couldn't help feeling reminded of the chorus girls' blue faces and chuckled slightly. Philippe on my left side gave the same sounds, yet Christine's face remained serious.

Since the pianist had just made a break, we could be heard rather well in the empty auditorium. The diva marched to the front of the stage and peered down at whoever dared chuckle about her. Her eyes narrowed.

"You…" she said.


	105. Chapter One Hundred and Five

**Chapter One Hundred and Five**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

It took all my will-power not to jump up from my seat at once. The diva's voice had made me alert. What on earth did she want to do with me? Yet upon closer examination I realised she hadn't referred to me at all. Her eyes were fixed on… Philippe. My hand closed around his protectively. This was even worse. I was used to that kind of things, but my boy… Yet I was prepared to defend him, no matter what she'd decide to do. No one would hurt him.

A moment passed in silence, then the impossible happened: Signora Marchesi's face was lit up by a smile. Suddenly she looked friendly. The really astonishing thing was that it wasn't the false friendliness I had seen her display towards her admirers, but a sincere friendliness. She seemed to be truly pleased that he was here.

"Good day, little Philippe Charles," she greeted him, her voice as light and melodic as a bell. "How good it is to meet you again! At first I wasn't sure whether it was really you. It's hard to look into the auditorium with all those lights on stage…" So that was why her eyes had narrowed. She had simply tried to see better. "Wait a moment!" she then went on. "I have something for you." With these words she left the stage, the pianist staring after her in bewilderment.

Christine and I looked at each other.

"Since when is she so friendly?" she asked.

"I have no idea," I replied honestly. "I've never seen her like that. It's very strange…" Yet no matter how strange it was, I couldn't help thinking that I rather enjoyed it, for it meant that Christine was talking to me properly again. I gave her a tentative smile, but she didn't return it. Apparently things weren't completely all right between us yet.

Signora Marchesi returned just one or two minutes later. She was no longer on stage, but entered the auditorium through a side entrance. In her hands she held a big, flat white box.

"Here," she said, giving it to the surprised Philippe. "I've bought those especially for you. _I bambini amano i dolci, vero?_" She glanced at the boy a little nervously, yet the expected approval didn't come, for naturally he hadn't understood her last words.

"She wants to know whether you like sweets," I told him in a low voice.

"Of course I like sweets," he said. "Thank you very much, Signora Marchesi." He stood up from his seat for a moment, made a polite little bow and sat down again. The singer looked delighted.

"Oh, I'm so glad you like them!" she exclaimed. "Now everything is all right between us, isn't it?" Philippe nodded, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

It was only then that she seemed to notice Christine and me.

"I hope you don't mind me giving the child sweets," she muttered, looking worried again. "Perhaps I should have asked you first."

"It's all right," Christine assured her. "As long as he doesn't eat all of them at once and also gives some to his sister…"

"What about you?" the singer addressed me cautiously. "Will you stop… tormenting me now?"

Given the fact that I hadn't done anything since the first night of the new opera, the question was a little pointless. Still I seized the chance to make sure she'd remain friendly for more than the next two minutes.

"That depends on your behaviour," I replied. "If I hear one word about you treating others in a disrespectful way, you'll get to know a very unpleasant side of me."

Her eyes widened. The question ´Even more unpleasant?´ was almost visible on her face.

"Never," she promised. "From now on, I'll be as good a singer as they come. May I go and start practicing now?"

I nodded generously.

While the diva made her way back onto the stage, I took a closer look at the sweets Philippe had received. Judging by the words on the box, they came directly from Italy. This did not underline my suspicion that she had simply given him sweets she had got from an admirer, possibly because she didn't like them. Even a wealthy patron would have probably bought her French sweets. No, it seemed that she had indeed bought them for Philippe.

"Can I open the box now?" my boy asked, looking from Christine to me and back. It was clear that he wasn't sure whom to address at the moment, his mother or his teacher. I nodded encouragingly. In my opinion there was nothing wrong with trying the sweets right away. One had to enjoy good things. Who knew how long one would have them?

"But don't eat too many, or you'll feel sick," Christine warned him.

Smiling, Philippe opened the box. It contained various kinds of chocolates. They looked so delicious that I couldn't reject the offer when the boy handed me the box. I chose a small, round chocolate and took a bite. It was filled with a white creamy substance that tasted of vanilla. Before I knew what I was doing, a second and third chocolate had vanished in my mouth. Christine threw me a sideways glance, but didn't say anything or take a chocolate herself.

I soon realised that Signora Marchesi's singing was more endurable if one could eat sweets while listening to her. Or had I become more tolerant towards her because she had been friendly to Philippe? I had to admit that I still couldn't understand her behaviour completely. I hadn't even seen her since the first night. But then, it was possible that she had waited for a chance to make up for her treatment of Philippe all the time and simply hand't had the chance to do so until today.

Or else… I nearly choked and stopped eating chocolates at once. Could it be that she had a guilty conscience, not because she had pushed my boy aside on the stairs, but because of something entirely different? Sending dead birds and intestines to the de Changys' door, perhaps? That would explain her sudden change of mind. Yet at the end of thw day, it would cause more questions than it answered. The diva knew that I was the person responsible for all the things that had happened to her, and not the boy. So if she wanted to take revenge on me, why should she choose to de Chagnys as her target?

I wasn't an easy target, of course. Only few people remembered the way down to my house these days, and no one would have been stupid enough to go there, to face me in person. It would be far less difficult to attack someone close to me, like my little heir or the woman I loved.

But then, I couldn't really imagine Signora Marchesi doing such things or even ordering somebody else to do them. I had observed her closely during her first weeks at the opera and had found out a lot about her character. Like many other divas, she was vain and hated to be criticised. Yet I had never seen her being mean on purpose. If she hurt others, whether physically or emotionally, it happened because she didn't think about them too much. The attacks, however, had been planned by a person who had thought carefully about how to hurt us most.

Yet it was also possible that I hadn't understood that woman's character at all. Maybe she had only tricked me into believing her harmless. Or maybe she hadn't. I suppressed a sigh. It was all so very complicated. Why couldn't things be easy for a change? The relationship of Christine and me had improved so wonderfully. Why couldn't the rest of our lives adapt to that?

Suddenly felt something nudge me gently. It turned out to be Christine's elbow.

"Erik, stop!" she whispered. "Signora Marchesi had already forgotten her lyrics three times because you're staring at her like that. It was amusing at the beginning, but slowly even I start pitying her."

It was only when my beloved said so that I noticed my eyes had been fixed on the woman all the time, while a grim expression had been on my face. Quickly I glanced into the other direction, at Christine. She avoided my gaze.

"Why are you angry at me?" I wanted to know, deciding that being open about it was the best method.

"I can't tell you now," she gave back in a whisper, nodding her head into Philippe's direction. "Will we have the chance to talk alone later?"

"Certainly," I replied. I'd make sure that we'd have all the time we'd need for talking… before tonight. I wouldn't let anything ruin our first night together, no matter how it would turn out to be. I wanted to get rid of our problems, so that they wouldn't disturb us later. A husband and wife had to be able to talk about everything. Seizing her hand, I held it in mine firmly. It was like a promise.

**Author's note:** "_I bambini amano i dolci, vero?"_ means "Children like sweets, don't they?". Just in case you're interested...


	106. Chapter One Hundred and Six

**Chapter One Hundred and Six**

**September 17th 1892: **_Christine_

Signora Marchesi finished practicing about half an hour later. Since this left us with nothing else to do in the auditorium, we made our way down to the cellars. Erik was still holding my hand while we were walking, and despite the fact that I was angry at him, I couldn't help enjoying it. It reminded me of the time when I had been a chorus girl and he had brought me to his home. I had been frightened then, but his presence had given me a little comfort.

I wasn't frightened now. I knew that the most dangerous creature in the cellars – if one could call him that – was currently holding my hand and would have rather killed himself than harmed me in any way. His presence was still comforting in the dark and damp corridors under the opera, though. I could feel that he had the same effect on Philippe, who was talking cheerfully, even though he usually was afraid of the dark.

Still I couldn't afford enjoying the situation too much, or I'd have risked forgetting my anger. And that mustn't happen. I had to talk to Erik about what was bothering me, and I knew I had to do it while I was angry at him. Otherwise his soft voice and loving gaze would make my mind grow blank. Sometimes I wondered whether he was even aware of the effect he had on me.

He chose exactly this moment to throw me one of his sideways glances. Quickly I looked away. Once I lost myself in the depths of his beautiful eyes, I'd only want to kiss him, and I couldn't do that now, even if I hadn't been angry at him. Philippe mustn't see us kiss, or he'd ask questions I couldn't give him an answer to.

Erik gave a sigh and continued his conversation with my son. That only made me more irritated. In my opinion, he didn't have any right to sigh about my behaviour. After all, it was he who taught a little child things that should belong to the lessons of an aspiring burglar. It was he who forced his opinions on him, so that soon my son wouldn't have any of his own left. And those were just the things I had seen this afternoon. Who knew what else he was teaching him when I was not around?

I kept repeating all those facts in my mind till we reached Erik's home.

"Why don't you make a cup of tea for us?" he suggested, once we were all standing in the corridor. "I'll show Philippe how to play some basic melodies on the organ, so that he can continue practicing alone after a while. I'll be with you in a quarter of an hour's time."

I nodded. It sounded like a good idea. I had experienced more than once that a cup of tea could be very helpful for a conversation.

Erik briefly showed me the kitchen and everything I'd need, then he left me alone. I couldn't resist the temptation to have a look around first. It was a nice, clean room, just the right size for one or two people. I couldn't see much food anywhere, yet I didn't know if it was always like that. Maybe he had just not bought more because he had known he'd stay with us for the next days. Judging by how much he had eaten of the meals Larisse had prepared, with the exception of the lunch today, he had a healthy appetite.

It didn't take me long to make tea. Just a few minutes after I had started the teapot and two cups were standing on the small table. A third cup was waiting next to them, for I assumed that sooner or later Philippe would come to get something to drink as well. I could only hope that wouldn't happen too soon, though. Erik and I would need quite a while to talk things over.

I had to wait another few minutes, then the door of the kitchen was opened, and Erik entered the room. I could hear the sound of the organ, but it wasn't as loud as usual. Apparently it depended on who was playing. After he had closed the door, nothing but a faint melody was still audible.

"Philippe enjoys playing the organ," he said, sitting down opposite me. "I think he has a lot of potential. He should practice at home as well, in the music room. He could – " He noticed the way I was looking at him in impatience and interrupted himself. "But that's not what you want to talk about," he finished quickly.

"Indeed," I agreed. "I want to talk about the way you're educating my son. Some of the things you teach him simply aren't suitable for a child. They wouldn't be suitable for most adults either, but they'd at least be able to tell the difference between right and wrong. Thanks to you, it's all growing blurred for him."

"Don't you think that's a little exaggerated?" he asked me calmly. "You make it sound as if I were the devil himself, trying to lure the boy away from the path of virtue."

I couldn't help smiling. The comparison was indeed absurd. Yet it reminded me of something, namely the important fact that I liked Erik very much.

"I don't want to have an argument any bigger or any longer than necessary," I told him. "But you've got to understand that I'm worried about my child. This is nothing personal. If I had the impression that Antoinette's teacher were talking to her about the wrong subjects, I'd be just as worried."

He nodded slowly.

"I do understand that," he muttered. "But haven't we already had this conversation once? You knew from the beginning that I'd also teach the boy things he wouldn't learn from a normal teacher. That's just the point of it. If the abilities one needs to become my heir were taught by everyone, I possibly wouldn't have begun to teach Philippe myself at all. And don't you like the thought that your son will know things only a few other people in the world know?"

It was a question that wasn't easy to answer.

"Maybe," I admitted. "Yet in a way it also scares me to known that my little boy doesn't need keys to enter a room. I mean… I mean, what if he'll do that tonight?"

In the next moment I had the rare pleasure to see Erik blush, at least a little.

"Philippe wouldn't do that," he replied. "At the moment he only opens doors when I tell him to do so. Besides… you've seen how long it takes him till he can actually enter a room. We'd have surely heard him before he'd come in. But I know what you mean. Power has always scared people."

Silence followed his statement. I filled the time while I was thinking about a response by pouring tea into our cups. Reaching for the small jar of honey I remarked:

"That's true. It's one of the reasons why so many people are scared of you, isn't it? They're afraid because you can do things they only dream of.".

"Exactly," Erik said. He seemed to be delighted that I had come to that conclusion.

"But Philippe's only a boy," I went on. "He won't know how to use that power." I didn't add that sometimes I had had the impression that even Erik didn't always know how to use his power.

"That's what I'm teaching him as well," he assured me. "I'm teaching him never to harm a person…"

"…unless they deserve it," I finished his sentence, shaking my head. "Or unless they stand in your way, like the poor Signor Piangi. I don't want my son to start killing people one day, just because they're obstacles to his plans."

By now, I was stirring my tea so furiously that the contents were beginning to spill onto the table. It was a small miracle that the cup wasn't broken yet. The prospect of Philippe walking around in the opera, murdering people whenever he thought he had the right to do so, made me feel sick. That must never happen.

"Just say it," Erik muttered sadly.

"Say what?" I asked in confusion.

"You don't want your precious son to become like me," he explained. "That's what it's all about, isn't it? You still think I'm a bad person. These…" He gestured at the wedding rings on our hands. "… didn't change anything about it."

"No!" I almost shouted. "That's not true, Erik. I don't think you're a bad person. If I did, I'd have never entrusted you with my son. Besides, I wouldn't love a bad person. And I'm quite sure that I love you."

The words had left my mouth before I had the chance to think about them. Only the astonished expression on Erik's face told me I had said something extraordinary.


	107. Chapter One Hundred and Seven

**Chapter One Hundred and Seven**

**September 17th 1892:** _Erik_

If I could have chosen one specific moment for the world to end, this would have been one of the most likely candidates. Even the time when we had kissed paled in comparison to this one. Christine had said it. She had said that she loved me. How much better could life become? I had waited for hearing those words for so long that I had nearly given up hope completely. ´What is the point in waiting any more?´ I had asked myself. ´As long as she's with you, it doesn't matter whether she loves you or not. You shouldn't expect too much.´

Yet all that had become unimportant now. Three little words had changed my life. I couldn't even recall what we had talked about before or in which mood I had been.

"Could you… say it again?" I asked, my voice sounding a little hoarse. "Please…" I wanted to hear her repeat it over and over, till it would be engraved in my mind and my heart for all times.

Yet for some reason she seemed to be rather reluctant. She was looking down at her cup intently, even though she hadn't taken a single sip yet. Why was she avoiding my eye?

"Erik, please…" she said in barely more than a whisper. "Don't think too much about those words. I just said them because… because…" Her voice trailed off. She bit her lip.

For once, the sight of white teeth digging into a soft bottom lip, bringing out its rosy colour even more, didn't have any kind of effect on me. I was too busy taking in her words to pay attention to it.

"Do you mean it was just a slip of your tongue?" I whispered incredulously. "You didn't… want to say that you love me?" How was it possible to feel so joyful in one moment and so miserable in the next? I wanted to hide my face behind my hands and cry. I wanted to shake her, to ask her how she could do this to me, how she could be this cruel. She knew me better than anyone else, for Heaven's sake! She knew how much I loved her and how much I had longed for hearing those words from her. And still…

Christine didn't answer my questions. Well, in a way that was an answer, too. I wasn't stupid. If she had truly loved me, repeating that sentence would have been easy for her. The mere fact that she didn't do it told me very clearly what was going on inside her: She didn't love me, but she didn't have the courage to say it. So she didn't say anything, hoping I'd change the subject.

Yet I wouldn't make it that easy for her. I continued staring at her. I wanted to make her squirm under my gaze. She should know what she had done wrong. Maybe my behaviour was childish, yet that didn't matter to me. I was too hurt to care about her feelings. After all, she hadn't cared about my feelings either, had she?

_Christine_

I didn't look up from my cup. I didn't dare look up. Still I could feel his eyes on me. He was the only person I knew who could do so many things with his eyes. Sometimes his glances were soft caresses, but that wasn't the case now. There was nothing affectionate about the piercing stare. I felt it as if it were burning holes into my skin.

I moved in my seat uncomfortably. If only I could have run away! Yet that was imposible. I had brought myself into this terrible situation, so I had to get myself out of it again. The problem was that I had no idea how to do it. I had to say something, that much was certain. Yet I didn't know what to say.

Everything would have been much easier if I had been able to turn back time. Just a few minutes would have been enough. Then I'd have told him something else, choosing my words more carefully. Any other argument would have been better than the stupid ´I love you´. I could have told him how much he meant to me and that I really didn't think him a bad person.

The trouble was that I simply didn't know whether I loved him. So many things had happened in the last days, causing so many different emotions. Could anyone blame me for being a little confused? Erik could obviously blame me. And he was right about it. Had I become so pathetic that I didn't even know whether I loved a person? It was one of the most basic questions there were.

Deciding that I couldn't hide forever, I looked up into his face… and gasped. He was still staring at me, yes, but there were tears trickling down his face. He didn't wipe them off. He merely stared and stared and stared at me. That was all he did. It was one of the saddest things I had ever seen.

Slowly I reached over the table to wipe the tears away with my fingers. The moment I touched him, however, something extraordinary happened: I was seized by a wave of emotion so powerful that it would have swept me off my feet if I had been standing. My breath sped up, and my heart was pounding in my chest. Trembling, I wondered whether being struck by a bolt of lightning felt like this.

For one or two seconds, the feeling was too strong to understand it. I could only endure it, my mouth hanging open slightly to make breathing easier. I squeezed my eyes shut, and when I opened them again… I knew the answer. I simply knew it. The feeling that had seized my body wasn't negative, not at all. It was love.

Now I could wipe the tears off Erik's face.

"I'm sorry that I made you cry," I told him softly. "And I'm sorry that I couldn't give you an answer right away. You see, I wasn't sure about it myself, but now I am. I love you."

A tentative smile spread across his face very slowly, as if he weren't sure whether to trust me. He found my hand at his cheek and covered it with his.

"Oh Christine, are you really speaking the truth this time?" he asked. "Or is it just a beautiful lie to make me stop crying?"

"I wouldn't lie about something that important," I replied. "If you want me to, I can say it again: I love you."

"This is the most wonderful present you could have given me," he whispered, his eyes dangerously moist again. "I love you, too."

By now, I had to blink away tears as well. It was hard not to be touched by his obvious joy. It only made my heart continue beating quickly. If it went on like this for a while, it would burst free from my chest and jump onto the table, a pounding mass of happiness. At the moment even this not very nice image seemed pleasant, in a strange way.

For some reason, we didn't kiss. It didn't seem to be necessary as a proof of our love. Erik remonved my hand from his cheek gently and held it in his.

"So these rings do mean something to both of us," he remarked quietly, brushing over the golden ring on my finger. "If only for a while…" he added, some of the joy leaving his face.

This was something I'd have preferred not to be reminded of. I hadn't thought of Raoul for some time, and I didn't want to do it now either. Thinking of him made me uncomfortable, as if I were betraying him. Maybe I was indeed betraying him, but I pushed that idea out of my mind. At the moment I was married to Erik, so I couldn't betray Raoul. Or was I making things too easy for myself?

"Don't think about it now," I whispered soothingly. "For the next few days I belong to you. I love you, and you love me. Isn't that enough?"

"I suppose so," he muttered, still not sounding fully convinced.

I sensed that I had to do more in order to take his mind off the subject.

"So… have you already made plans for tonight?" I asked casually. "Is there anything special you'd like to do in our wedding night?"

"I don't know," he replied shortly, pulling back his hand. "And I don't want to talk about it either."

I looked at him in surprise. I cleary had succeeded in distracting him, yet I hadn't expected such a response. I had thought he'd be a little more enthusiastic.

"Is something wrong, Erik?" I wanted to know cautiously. "Aren't you looking forward to tonight?"

"No," he said, his voice growing more unfriendly by the second. "As a matter of fact, I'm not looking forward to tonight at all."

I was too shocked by his sudden hostility to react. Instead, I took the first sip of the by now cold tea. It tasted terribly bitter.

"I'll go to Philippe," I announced, putting the cup onto the table and standing up. "I'd like to see whether he's still practicing." Erik didn't move a muscle. He didn't even acknowledge my words with a nod. So I shrugged and left him alone. Something had gone seriously wrong in this conversation.


	108. Chapter One Hundred and Eight

**Chapter One Hundred and Eight**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

By the time my conversation with Christine was over, I wasn't more than a wreck. I had been tossed around by the tempest of emotions, hers as well as mine, till my sails were hanging down in rags and my masts were broken. I was so exhausted that I didn't even manage to stand up and go after her. All I could do was stare into space.

Yet all that was only referring to my appearance. Inside the motionless body, struggles were erupting everywhere. Positive emotions were fighting against negative ones. Both sides were throwing snatches of the conversation around, forming arguments or simply shouting loudly. It was a complete chaos, and I had no idea how long it would go on like this.

There was just one thing I knew: In the end, the negative emotions would win. I knew it, for that was the way our conversation had ended as well. I simply couldn't erase Christine's surprised face and her incredulous voice from my mind. She had probably assumed that talking about our wedding night would make me more cheerful than I had been before.

This might have worked for a normal man. But I wasn't a normal man. The expectant sparkle in her eyes had only reminded me of the fact that she was indeed looking forward to that very special night. Well, special it would be, if only especially embarrassing and especially disappointing. Yet I couldn't imagine that this was what she had had in mind.

Perhaps it was strange of me to become that upset about a wedding night, so shortly after she had told me that she loved me. Shouldn't that be much more important? Of course it should. Yet in my mind all those things were connected, and I sensed that they had to do with me feeling inferior to the Vicomte. He was the man she'd always love, not only for a few days. He also was the man who knew how to make her happy in the bedroom. I'd never stand the comparison to him.

Yet even all those bad things had a tiny positive aspect: At least I could be sure that she wasn't able to read minds. If she had done so at today's lunch, she wouldn't have been surprised about me being less than happy now. I didn't blame her for being a little insensitive in that respect, though. She must have thought I'd be eager to become more experienced in matters of the flesh. How could she know that the more I brooded about it, the less eager I grew?

There was but one solution: I wouldn't spend the night in her bedroom. I wouldn't spend the night in bed at all. Instead, I'd walk around in the corridors and the garden all night long, keeping my eyes and ears open. No one would come past me to attack the family. After all, that was what I had come to do in the first place.

It also had the advantage that everybody would apprechiate it. Christine would perhaps be a little disappointed when she'd first hear it, but in the end she'd understand. Besides, I'd only spare her further disappointment by avoiding her bedroom. It would be best for all of us.. with the possible exception of myself.

I gave a sigh. It was the first sound that could be heard from me after minute after silent minute. I was aware that by sparing us the embarrassment, I also robbed myself of a unique chance. If I refused Christine tonight, I'd probably never get the possibility to make love to her. Yet what did it matter, as long as I didn't lose face in front of the woman I loved?

Yes, I'd stay away from her bedroom. Maybe I'd even ask her to lock the door, just in case I'd grow weak. But then, of course I didn't need a key to enter a locked room. I could just… but I wouldn't do so. It stroke me as particularly ironic that I had argued with the Vicomte over the right to sleep in her bedroom and wouldn't do it now. Yet merely seeing the expression on his face had been worth the effort. It had been priceless. Perhaps I should make up a few nice stories about what had happened between Christine and me, just for the sake of tormenting him. So I'd at least gain a little pleasure from the situation.

Shaking my head about the kind of ideas I sometimes had, I decided to join Christine and Philippe in the living room. At last I came to my feet, poured a little tea into the third cup and added sugar. It was about time that the boy had a break. One couldn't expect him to practice too much. I didn't want to spoil his interest in music by letting him play the same melody over and over. That would have been boring, mindless work, and I certainly was no supporter of such things.

I left the kitchen, went down the corridor and pushed open the door to the living room, which stood ajar. It was clear that Philippe wasn't playing anymore, or I'd have heard it.

"Here, my boy," I said. "I brought you a cup of tea, for I know that playing the organ can make very thirsty." I handed him the cup and watched him take a long gulp. I had obviously been right: He had needed a break.

Christine looked at me. It seemed to surprise her that I didn't only care for the child's intellectual, but also for his physical needs. Did she really think I had never given him food and drink in the times when he had been with me? I was a good teacher, and also a good godfather, even though I hadn't officially been made his godfather. I didn't care about such technicalities.

"What will we do now?" Philippe asked me as soon as his cup was empty.

"Well," I replied, slipping onto the bench next to him. "Now we'll play together. You have your melody, and every time I'll tell you so you'll play it, while I'll play something else."

The melody I had instructed him to practice had been chosen carefully, so that it fit together with another one I had recently composed. They wove into each other like two different kinds of thread, making the most wonderful patterns. Of course my part was much more difficult than his, yet one couldn't hear that too clearly.

The moment we started playing I knew it had been a good idea. He seemed to enjoy it, and so did I. Admittedly there were a few mistakes in it every now and then, but they were barely audible, for I quickly altered my part of the composition to make the new notes fit in. It was a highly enjoyable way of playing, maybe even better than playing alone because it was livelier.

Even Christine obviously liked it. She had taken a seat next to the organ to keep her son company, so that I could throw her a few sideways glances. She looked rather pleased. Apparently I had found something to teach her son that she approved of. It made me glad, even though I had no intention to stop teaching him all the other things. One couldn't be a decent Opera Ghost with playing the organ only. Nobody would have the slightest bit of respect for me if I didn't have a few other abilities as well.

After a couple of minutes the piece was over. My beloved applauded.

"That was wonderful, Philippe," she praised him. "I had no idea you could already play this well. If you want to, you can practice in the music room as well from now on," she offered with a warm smile, which was very contagious. Before long, the boy and I were smiling as well.

"Thank you," he said.

"Yes, thank you," I added. "I'm glad he'll have the chance to practice more." I knew how hard it had to be for her to open the music room for her son. After all, she had even forbidden her daughter to learn ballet years ago. Things had clearly changed since that time, and I had a feeling I was the one responsible for it.

It seemed that Christine only noticed then that I was there, too.

"You also played very well," she muttered, looking down at the organ.

"Thank you," I said yet again. I wouldn't force her to look up at me if she didn't want to. It was clear that our previous conversation was not only troubling me. I couldn't help wondering what exactly she was thinking about, but I wouldn't ask her. It would have made me appear too curious.

I met Philippe's eyes, yet now the expectant sparkle didn't bother me. At least I was able to satisfy the child's wish for entertainment.

"Let's go and visit Orpheus," I suggested. "He hasn't seen either of you in weeks."


	109. Chapter One Hundred and Nine

**Chapter One Hundred and Nine**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

Orpheus was sitting on his perch in a corner of Christine's room. Or was it Philippe's room now? After all, he had slept in it when he had stayed with me. But the copies of Christine's dresses were still in there as well. So the room probably belonged to both of them. Yet the bird only belonged to the boy. It had been a present for him, even though he hadn't played with it since the first time I had made it sing.

I hadn't started teaching him that trick yet. It was too early. Ventriloquism was a very useful tool for a future Opera Ghost, but learning it was a long and difficult process, and I didn't want him to be disappointed because it didn't work for him. Besides, I couldn't teach him everything at once, or he'd grow confused and would end up knowing nothing properly.

The bird's pearly feathers shone in the candle light as I lit a lamp in the centre of the room. I heard the others gasp for breath and smiled. Even I, who had built this amazing machine and many more, was still astonished by its beauty. Every minute of working on it had been worth it.

"Shall we begin?" I asked.

Christine and Philippe nodded eagerly. They sat down next to each other on the bed, facing the bird, whereas I remained standing at its side. I took a deep breath.

"Would you like to sing for us, Orpheus?" I wanted to know. My arms were hidden by the bird's body, so no one saw me press a button. At once Orpheus sprang to life and nodded meekly.

The melody I now let stream out of its beak was a very cheerful one. This time I'd be careful and avoid the mistake I had made last time. I didn't want to make Christine sad or even depressed. Of course it was in the nature of music to influence people, but I only planned to influence her for the better. It had been so nice of her to say that she loved me. The things that had happened afterwards hadn't been her fault, and I wanted to make her forget them for a while.

At first it was working very well. The two persons on the bed were smiling, looking at each other or at Orpheus. It was one of the signs of a good illusion that they never looked at me. In their eyes, I had vanished, only to become a part of the bird, which was singing and singing without pause.

Yet I couldn't maintain the cheerful character of the song forever. It would have been too exhausting, like smiling all the time. Slowly, gradually, the song grew more serious. A certain melancholy made its way among the bright notes, slowing them down a little. The atmosphere in the room changed with it and became more sombre.

The effect on Philippe was instant: His eye lids grew heavy, and his head fell against his mother's shoulder. Without even noticing it, I had turned the song into a lullaby for him. That wasn't too bad, actually. He could do with a little rest. Yet which effect would the song have on Christine? I glanced over at her anxiously.

_Christine_

I had read the story of Orpheus and Eurydice several years ago. It had touched me, yet at that time it had been buried under many other stories with couples just as tragic. Sure, the fate of managing to get back one's dead beloved, only to have her snatched away and led back to into the underworld was terrible, but so were the fates of Cupid and Psyche, Jason and Medea and many others.

Now it was different. It was as if by listening to the bird's song, I became Eurydice. I could feel the searing pain of being bitten by a snake on my wedding day, the agony of being pulled into the underworld, away from my beloved Orpheus. Yet most of all I felt the longing. I yearned for being with him, for holding him in my arms and telling him how much I loved him.

Yet he wasn't there. I was all alone. There was only darkness surrounding me. I opened my mouth to call for my beloved, but no sound came out. My hands were groping for someone or something to hold onto. I scrambled to my feet, hearing something heavy fall next to me onto the place where I had been sitting, but not turning around to look at it.

A shadow was moving in front of me. Was it my Orpheus? I flung my arms around him, and the song ended. Slowly I came to my senses again and looked up at Orpheus. No, of course it was Erik. It took me a moment to get back the knowledge of who and where I was. It was like waking up from a very strange dream.

"What has happened?" I whispered.

"I have no idea," he replied, shaking his head in wonder. He seemed to be just as confused as I was. "I only changed the melody a little to make it more serious, and suddenly… you changed as well. It was as if you were dreaming with your eyes open… but I didn't mean for that to happen. You've got to believe me…"

"I believe you," I assured him. "Why should you try to influence the way I'm feeling, when it already is just like you want it? I love you and I want to be with you… Still it did feel strange… that longing… Well, I guess if I feel like that tonight, it'll be all right, won't it?" I tried to make a joke, even giving a short laugh.

Yet Erik didn't laugh. He looked uncomfortable, as if my remark had reminded him of something very unpleasant.

"There's something I've got to tell you… about… well, about tonight," he stammered, staring over my left shoulder to avoid eye contact.

I had rarely seen him this nervous, and I couldn't even find a reason for it. So I decided that he was probably just excited. I ran my hands over his back soothingly.

"What is it?" I asked, when he hadn't said a single word for one or two minutes.

"There won't be a ´tonight´," Erik blurted out. "Not the way you want it. There will be no kissing, no touching, no undressing and no… you know. There will be no wedding night, Christine."

I felt as if someone had hit me over the head with a heavy stone. I couldn't believe it. Yes, he had said before that he wasn't looking forward to tonight, but I had assumed it were just his nervousness talking. Yet to cancel the whole thing was much more serious.

"You can't really mean that," I mumbled. "The wedding night is a tradition. We didn't do many things the traditional way, so I thought it would be nice to have at least that one."

He shook his head.

"It's simply not possible," he told me. "I have to be outside tonight, to look around for the attacker. I can't leave the house unprotected, just because I have better things to do. If something happened…"

He was right about that, of course. Still I wouldn't give up that quickly.

"What about a compromise?" I suggested. "You'll walk around in the garden for an hour at dusk, so that anyone planning to attack us will see you're there. Then you come to bed, stay with me for a few hours, and go outside again. Like this, you could do both things."

"No," he said sharply. "Nothing will happen tonight, and it'll be best that way. Believe me, it'll spare you a lot of disappointment."

With these words he let go of me, so suddenly that I staggered backwards. I could see the horror in his eyes and knew he had revealed more than he had wanted to. Still I couldn't understand what he was talking about. Which disappointment?

"Why should I be – ?" I started, but by then he had regained his composure and interrupted me.

"Forget it!" he told me hotly. "Forget the whole thing! I know just what this is about. You felt lonely in your bed last night and want to fill the gap your dear husband has left. All you want is have a good time – if not with me, you'll find someone else! Why don't you take the coachman? He's young, handsome and surely experienced enough to fulfil your wishes, much better than I even could!"

I had barely heard the last sentences, for I was too shocked. Had the man who claimed to love me really just accused me of being willing to sleep with anyone, only for the sake of having a good time? What kind of person did he think I was?

"I didn't mean to say any of that," he explained hastily, his eyes as wide as mine. "I'm sorry…"

I watched the colour drain from his face.

"Go," I said calmly, feeling as if I'd explode any moment. "Go!"

And he left indeed, without uttering another word. I wondered whether it had been like that for Eurydice when Orpheus had left her once and for all.


	110. Chapter One Hundred and Ten

**Chapter One Hundred and Ten**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

It had gone all wrong. Marching down the corridor with long strides I felt like kicking myself. How could I have been that stupid? I had planned to tell Christine about where'd spend the night at a time when many other people would be around, so that she wouldn't have been able to show her anger. By the time she'd have talked to me alone, the worst would have been over.

But no! I had ruined everything, just because I hadn't been able to pull myself together. It had clearly been my frustration speaking, my frustration about being such a failure. The opportunity to sleep with the woman I loved, to fulfil one of my biggest wishes had been offered to me on a silver plate, and I had been too much of a coward to seize it.

On the first look, it might have seemed a little strange to blame Christine, yet with every moment I thought about it, it became more plausible. If she hadn't had ten years of experience with the Vicomte, there wouldn't have been any reason for me to be afraid. Pulling the door to my room open with far more power than necessary, I groaned. So I was blaming Christine for having gotten married? Wasn't this taking things too far?

Well, actually I didn't blame her for the marriage. That would have been foolish. I had always wanted her to be happy, even if that meant having to watch her with the Vicomte. No, the thing that was bothering me was something entirely different, I realised as I lit a candle and let my gaze wander around in the room, looking for a place to stay till I had calmed down.

The problem was that she had begun to talk about the wedding night again and again, oblivious to the fact that it had tormented rather than pleased me. It wasn't surprising that at one point I had no longer been able to hold myself back. Yet I also knew that I had said some very bad things, things I couldn't take back anymore, no matter how hard I tried.

I had accused Christine of having loose morals, which certainly was not the case. In all the years I had watched her, she had always remained faithful to her husband. I doubted that she'd have ever been willing to make love to me if we hadn't gotten married, at least symbolically. She had talked about it before, yet she probably wouldn't have gone through with it. She was a young woman who wanted to enjoy herself with her husband, which happened to be me at the moment.

So, who was to blame? I, of course. I had pushed her away, I had insulted her, even though what I had wanted was hold her close and whisper sweet nothings into her ear. I had done everything wrong. Suddenly I felt very exhausted. I wanted to sleep, sleep until things would be all right again.

The lid of my coffin was open. It looked very inviting, at least to me. I knew it would be warm inside, warm and soft. I longed for the sweet oblivion only sleep could bring. Quickly I slipped out of my shoes and climbed into the coffin. I pulled the blanket up to my face. With a content sigh I rolled onto my left side, so that I didn't have to lie on my mask. It was just as comfortable as I had thought it would be.

Forgetting everything for a while… it was very tempting. Besides, I was truly tired, though not even the afternoon was over yet. The day had been exhausting. It didn't take long for my eyelids to droop, and within minutes I was fast asleep.

_Christine_

I stared after Erik, even when the door was already closed behind him. I couldn't believe that he had left, just like that. Why hadn't he tried to argue? Why hadn't he thrown me out instead of going himself? After all, it was his house, not mine. He had the right to be in every room he wanted, whereas I was just a guest.

Yet had that been the right way of treating a guest? Accusing her, more or less openly, of being a harlot? Thinking of it made me clench my hands into fists at my sides. What had been going on inside his head, talking to me like that? He had never done that before, at least not since we were on friendly terms again. And I had thought he loved me…

But he did love me. The thought hit me so suddenly that I sank down onto the bed, next to Philippe, who was sleeping. Absent-mindedly I stroked his hair. Yes, Erik loved me. It was one of the things in my life I hoped would never change. The things he had said had nothing to do with that fact. Maybe he wasn't even really angry at me, but just… frightened.

It was only now that the last sentences he had spoken seemed to have reached my mind. And suddenly I understood why he had been so irritable, why he hadn't wanted to talk about tonight, why he had been hiding behind the excuse that he had to protect the house from possible attackers. From somewhere, Erik had got the idea that he couldn't be good enough for me, that he couldn't please me. He was frightened. That was all.

Little he knew that this idea was ridiculous. I wasn't very experienced myself. Raoul had been my first and only man so far. Yet even if I had been as experienced as some of the chorus girls had always claimed to be, it wouldn't have mattered. I wanted to sleep with Erik because I loved him, and not because I hoped to learn many new things from him.

Yet even with all that on my mind, I knew I couldn't just go to him and tell him to stop worrying. It could have offended him. Besides, there was always the possibility that my assumption could be wrong. In that case, my words would only hurt his male pride, and I knew how sensitive it was. I didn't want to risk making him angrier than before. No, I'd have to approach the topic cautiously.

I sat there for several minutes, stroking my son's hair and thinking, but I didn't come up with a good idea. Finally I decided to look where Erik was first. Maybe he was in such a good mood by now that I wouldn't have to say anything. I didn't really believe in that, but I was glad about any chance to stretch my legs a little. Perhaps I'd have better ideas in a different room.

Slowly, as not to wake up Philippe, I came to my feet and left the room. The kitchen was empty; I could see it through the open door. No one was in the living room either. Well, I hadn't expected it to be any different. If Erik had been trying to free himself from his bad mood by playing the organ, I'd have heard it.

I knocked at the door of the bathroom. It was not a place I felt like entering without being asked to, just in case he was doing something private. Yet there was no reply, and I couldn't hear any sounds. Since I didn't dare simply open the door, there was just one place left to check: his bedroom, which also was his study. I had always avoided going in there because of the coffin. I had never understood how a person could choose to sleep in such a thing. Yet if I wanted to find him, I'd have to take the risk of seeing it.

Again, there was no answer when I knocked. But this time I opened the door. What was the worst thing he could be doing in that room? Making another dissection, possibly. The thought made me feel a little sick, but I resisted the urge to close the door again.

The room was almost completely dark. There was a candle standing on a table, but it had burned low and was close to going out. Still I could see the outlines of the coffin. A shiver ran down my spine, combined with a certain sense of foreboding. I wanted to run away, yet at the same time I was drawn irresistibly to the coffin. I simply had to have a look inside.

Yet when I did so, I had to stifle a scream by clapping my hand over my mouth. Erik was lying there. For a terrible second I thought he was dead; his face looked ghostly pale. Trembling, I brought my fingers in front of his face and felt his breath on my skin. He inhaled deeply and nuzzled my hand, muttering something that sounded like my name.

It was clear that by lying down with him, I'd have made him very happy. Yet it was the kind of plan that cost a lot of courage. ´It's just a bed,´ I told myself encouragingly. ´There are pillows and a blanket in it. Only stupid people are afraid of a bed.´ Deciding at at least do it quickly, I took off my shoes and slipped under the blanket, lying down next to him. This was only possible because we were both lying on our sides, of course. I pressed my face against his shoulder, embracing him from behind. It was a good, comforting feeling to hold him in my arms.


	111. Chapter One Hundred and Eleven

**Author's note: **This is an excellent chapter for jumping to conclusions. But I have to warn you: Things are not always the way they seem... especially not in my stories.

**Chapter One Hundred and Eleven**

**September 17th 1892: **???

My lips were curled into a thin smile as I left the house. Once more, I had been right: One could find out everything, if only one had the right methods. Money was an incentive that made almost all people talk. Yet ever since I had paid the beggars, there wasn't much money left in my pocket. The area in which I earned a living wasn't exactly one that came with a regular income.

Anyway, since money had been out of the question, I had used my favourite way of persuasion: threats. Recalling the little scene made my smile widen. ´I've heard you have a small daughter,´ I had said, opening my jacket casually, just long enough for the housekeeper to see the shining metal of my pistol in the inner pocket. The woman had grown pale. ´W-what do you w-w-want?" she had stammered. ´Information,´ I had replied simply. And that was what I had got.

It never ceased to amaze me how easy it was to scare people. One just had to know what frightened them most. Usually threats involving children worked best, closely followed by husbands and wives. I had so much experience in that kind of thing that I could have written a book about it… if I had known how to write, that was.

I had found out everything I had wanted to. Once her fear had worn off enough to allow her to speak complete sentences, the housekeeper had answered all my questions. She had told me that her employer was currently visiting his wife in hospital because she had given birth the day before. Of course I didn't care about some man and his brat, but only about his business partner, Comte Raoul de Chagny. Yet I had also found out that he was staying in Oslo at the moment and that no one knew exactly when he'd come back to France.

Walking into a narrow side street to avoid the afternoon traffic, I realised this left me with one question unanswered: Who was the man who was staying with Mme. de Chagny and the children? I hadn't seen him arrive at the house, so I assumed it had happened in the afternoon the day before yesterday, when I had been gone for a couple of hours because I had had other business to do.

Involuntarily I reached down and rubbed my bruised ribcage, wincing softly. My master had not been pleased about my absence at such an important event. If I didn't tell him the man's identity soon… I shuddered. It was better not to think about it. The housekeeper had said she were in the dark about a man in the de Chagny house, and I didn't think she'd have dared lie to me.

Unfortunately I hadn't even seen the man properly yet. In the park I had only been able to hide behind a few bushes far away from the bench where the man had been sitting with Mme. de Chagny, so I had only seen him from behind. So far, I knew that he was very tall, had dark hair and wore black clothes. That wasn't enough to ask around in the street. Even my cousin, who knew everyone in Paris, had only shaken his head about such vague a description.

At the moment, Victor was following them. Perhaps he'd be luckier than me or the other men who had tried to catch a glimpse of the mysterious companion of Mme. de Chagny. Of course this was not about moral or similar nonsense. We didn't care about who that woman took to her bed when her husband wasn't around. I grinned. She was a pretty little thing. I certainly wouldn't have minded being taken to her bed. Yet those were just my private thoughts, fuelled by the long hours I had spent in her garden last night, watching the windows.

My master, however, was only interested in whether the man was hired to guarantee the family's safety. If he was a policeman, for example, we couldn't just kill him and proceed with our plans as if nothing had happened. Killing a policeman would get us into deep trouble. Usually I didn't care about a bit of trouble. Yet my master had explained that we had to be careful not to draw too much attention on ourselves. Once the police was involved, things would get much harder for us.

Sometimes I thought that my master already had a suspicion who the man was. Yet I never asked him. I might have been stupid, but I wasn't that stupid. I wasn't being paid for curiosity. Besides, asking too many questions had caused many shattered bones among our people, and I wasn't too keen on having my nose broken a second time within three months.

It was true that I didn't have the nicest company possible, but it could have been worse. Who else would have hired a man who had spent a few years in prison? I had to be happy about what I had, even if it meant doing things that were simply disgusting. I was glad that Victor had taken over the task involving the intestines. When he had told me about it over lunch, I had nearly thrown up, which probably was what he had wanted. No, I clearly preferred threatening people. It meant much less blood… at least most of the time.

Even though the payment wasn't too bad, I'd have turned my back on my master by now… if it hadn't been for my mistress. I gave a little sigh, left the side street and crossed the street so suddenly that I was almost hit by a passing coach. I yelled a few curses and continued my way on the other side of the road.

It was always like that: Thinking of my mistress meant trouble. It had made me miss the window I had been supposed to smash and put only a small dead bird into the box, giving the cat I should have killed to my mistress as a present. Fortunately those actions had still had the intended effect, so that my master hadn't punished me… mainly because he hadn't found out about my mistakes yet.

But all that would be nothing compared to his fury if he found out about my feelings for my mistress. I'd be a dead man. No one was supposed to know about my secret, yet I thought my companions suspected something. ´You're growing all misty-eyed again,´ they teased me every now and then. ´What's the matter with you lately?´ I never gave an answer, afraid my voice would tremble and give away my feelings.

So often I had tried to pull myself together, to look into the other direction when she passed me, to keep my heart from beating wildly, but it had never worked. I had seen quite a few women in my life, yet not even Mme. de Chagny, who was a particularly fine one, could be compared to my mistress. I loved everything about her: her hair, her eyes, her voice, the way she walked… everything.

She was the most important reason why I was still working for my master. The de Chagnys had insulted her, and we were there to take revenge. I didn't know how they had insulted her, but it had surely been terrible, or my master wouldn't have been forced to start all this. When I was lying on my stinking mattress at night, I often imagined the things that had happened to my mistress. It made me very angry. If only I could have been there for her at that time! Maybe she'd have even been grateful enough to fall in love with me.

I had to fulfil my tasks in the best way possible. It was my only chance to attract the attention of my mistress. I imagined her running to me, taking me into her arms and kissing me in front of everybody else. It was one of my more pleasant day-dreams. Before I had met her, I hadn't been one to dream a lot, yet that was one of the many things which had changed under that woman's influence.

It all depended on what my master called ´the big finale´. So far, I only knew that it would mean the end of what we had been doing for the last days, and that it would probably happen at night-time. None of us knew the whole plan. According to my master, it was like that because he didn't want to risk one of us betraying him at the last second, yet personally I suspected he wasn't sure about it himself. The love for my intact nose, however, made me remain silent about that, too.

Finally I had reached my destination and entered a small shop. There were a few things I had to get for the big finale… whatever that was.


	112. Chapter One Hundred and Twelve

**Chapter One Hundred and Twelve**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

Even still half-asleep I noticed something was different from the way it usually was. It was warm and comfortable in the coffin, just like always, but for some reason there was less space. Normally I could turn around without problems, yet today I found myself pressed against the hard wood by… a body. There was someone lying next to me.

Slowly I extended an arm and ran my hand over the person behind me, holding my breath. It couldn't be… It could. My fingers encountered the soft fabric of a sleeve, then the even softer skin of an arms. I brushed over the little hairs tentatively, moving my hand further downwards. After a few moments it met something that was neither clothes nor skin, but metal. It was a ring. I smiled.

Opening my eyes I dared turn around at last, making myself as thin as possible. I wasn't sure whether she was sleeping and didn't want to wake her up by hitting her with some part of my body. Yet it turned out that there was no reason for me to be worried. She was slumbering like an angel, her eyes closed, her lips parted slightly and her hair spread out all over the pillow.

I couldn't have told how long I was lying there, looking at her and being very, very happy. Christine was here with me, in my coffin. I had dreamed of this to happen for a long time, even though reason had told me over and over that it wasn't very likely. Like most people, my beloved had a natural fear of death and everything that had to do with it. I knew how much courage it must have cost her to climb into the coffin, just for my sake.

I was terrified that this moment could end too soon, but I also knew that Christine would wake up before long. She'd remember all the stupid, thoughtless things I had said and grow angry again. She'd storm out of the room, appalled by having slept in the coffin. I could count myself lucky if she wouldn't blame me for it, for one reason or another. One could never know with her.

Yet as my anxiety rose, so did my desire to place at least one little kiss on those rosy lips. If Christine really was still angry at me, she wouldn't kiss me for a long time. So maybe this was a good chance. She'd never know… but of course I wouldn't do anything indecent. Just one kiss, then I'd wake her up, and she'd be able to decide what to do for herself.

I pressed my lips against hers. At frist I was very cautious, but after a moment I just couldn't hold myself back. I ran my tongue over her bottom lip lightly. At once, her eyes flew open, and I braced myself for the worst. Yet she didn't pull back and yell at me. On the contrary: When I instinctively tried to end the kiss, she placed a hand at the back of my head, forcing me to stay where I was.

I was delighted. This was better than I could have imagined. She seemed to enjoy kissing me, even after all that had happened. I wrapped an arm around her waist, and she responded by pushing her tongue into my mouth. My heart was beating wildly, and even though I tried to, I couldn't keep a very obvious physical sign of my excitement from pressing into her lower abdomen.

I knew I should have stopped now, should have pulled back, should have apologised for being this pathetic. Why couldn't I even kiss her without making a fool of myself? Yet there was no time for pondering over that question at the moment, for Christine didn't seem to mind at all. She didn't let go of me, but started unbuttoning my shirt with one hand. Could it be possible that she was just as excited as I was?

Tentatively my hands moved lower. Not for a moment did I stop to reflect on what I was doing. I didn't think at all; I just felt. More and more pieces of clothing were discarded, and then… it happened. It simply happened. Without planning, without thinking, without speaking. And it felt… the human race had yet to invent a word that described the feelings that were throbbing in my veins, pounding in my heart, only to be released in one low moan of her name.

Afterwards we lay next to each other in the coffin. I had pulled the blanket, which had slipped from our bodies, upwards to keep the two of us warm.

"Does this count as our wedding night?" I asked, twirling a strand of her long hair around my finger. "After all, it is dark outside." I gestured at the window with my other hand.

"It's always dark outside in your world," she pointed out. "And I'd say it's only evening. So we can call this our wedding evening, but not our wedding night, I'm afraid. I still want you in my bed tonight."

I smiled.

"There's no place I'd rather be," I told her. "Actually that plan of yours sounds very good. I'm sure that seeing me a couple of times during the night will be enough for any possible attacker."

I was aware that I had never been worried too much about an attack. It had merely been an excuse to avoid Christine's bed. Yet now I didn't know what I had been afraid of. It had been easy, it had been good… or hadn't it?

Suddenly I wasn't feeling that wonderful anymore. It occurred to me that so far I had only thought of myself and how much I had enjoyed it. What if she hadn't? It was hard to tell with a woman. All I could do was ask her.

"Christine…" I started hesitantly. "Did you… well… did you… enjoy what we were doing?"

She looked at me for a long moment. Then she shook her head. My heart missed a few beats. I should have known. If only I hadn't asked her! Now she'd give me a detailed enumeration of what I had done wrong, and I really didn't want to hear it. I had tried my best. Did that count for nothing?

"Erik, Erik," she said, still shaking her head. "How can you ask such a question? Of course I enjoyed it. You were wonderful, Erik. I'll never forget this afternoon."

My smile widened. There was a tiny part of me that wanted to have the direct comparison to the Vicomte. It wanted to be told I had been better than him. Yet I knew better than to tempt fate. I was afraid I wouldn't have liked the answer to such a question.

"I'll never forget it either," I whispered. "It was…" I stopped, realising I still hadn't found the right expression.

"This must be the first time that the Opera Ghost is lost for words," Christine remarked with a slightly teasing undertone in her voice. "I should count myself lucky that I'm present at such an event."

"I'm sure this won't have been the last time you've seen this happen," I muttered into her ear, noticing in delight that the little hairs on her arm were standing up at my words. I let my lips linger at her earlobe for a moment before wandering further to her cheek and finally to her lips. There even was a difference in the way I was kissing her: I was more self-assured than before. I had pleased her while making love to her, so kissing didn't seem to be that difficult either.

"We should look what Philippe is doing," Christine said after a while. "Maybe he has woken up and is frightened because he doesn't know where we are."

I nodded half-heartedly. She was right. We mustn't neglect the boy, just because we had other things to do at the moment. I didn't want to give him the impression that he was superfluous.

I sat up, groaning about the pain that shot through my back. My coffin clearly wasn't made for two people.

"Would you like me to light another candle?" I asked her. I hadn't even noticed the first one going out. But then, I could see rather good in the dark. It was different for Christine, and I was concerned that she'd have difficulties in finding all her clothes.

Yet she shook her head.

"It's fine the way it is," she assured me hastily, and I understood.

"I see," I said slowly. "You don't want to look at me. You're afraid that my body could be as ugly as my face. I'm sorry that I haven't found a mask to cover all of me yet."

"That's not the point," she said softly. "It's not you, but… me. I'm not as young as I used to be, and being with child two times has left its traces on my body…" She gave a little sigh.

"You're the most beautiful woman in the world," I stated simply. "And it'll always stay like that, even if you live to be a hundred years old. It's a pity I won't be around anymore then…"

"You'll always be in here, in my heart," she whispered, pointing at her chest.

I got up quickly, glad about the dark. I wasn't in the mood to explain the tears in my eyes.


	113. Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen

**Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

We dressed in silence, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. There was no hint of regret in the air, not from me, of course, and also not from her. We simply didn't talk because we both were lost in our own thoughts and didn't feel like sharing them. At least it was like that for me. I kept re-living the most wonderful moments of the last minutes, of our conversation as well as of what had happened before. All this, as well as the thought that it would happen again in just a few hours' time, put me into such a euphoric state that it was a small miracle that I managed to bring every piece of clothing to the corresponding part of my body.

Another obstacle in my struggle to get dressed was the fact that I just had to looked over to Christine every now and then. She had the advantage that most of her clothes had bright colours, so they were easier to find than mine. Yet since she couldn't see in the dark, she was still slower than me. This gave me the chance to have a lovely view of various parts of her body, and most of the time she wasn't even aware that I was watching her.

With all those things holding me back, it was no wonder that Christine and I were finished at almost the same moment. Silently I seized her hand and led her out of my room and back into the bedroom. The lamp hadn't gone out, so that we could see right away that Philippe was still sleeping. The bird was sitting on its perch, and it looked as though it were watching him.

"I can carry him back to the coach," I offered. He's not very heavy. So we don't have to wake him up." He was slumbering so peacefully, and I couldn't bring myself to shaking him or calling his name. It would have been cruel. When he was sleeping, Philippe looked just like his mother. I wouldn't have been able to wake her up in such a situation either.

Yet Christine shook her head.

"That's very friendly of you," she told me. "But we can't do it like that. If Philippe doesn't wake up soon, he won't be able to go to sleep all night. I don't want to make him confused. It's very important for children to have a constant rhythm with such things. As a matter of fact, it's also important for adults…" She threw me a sideways glance.

"I do sleep at night," I protested. "Well, sometimes… How do we wake him up then?"

She leaned down, till her face was on the same level as his.

"Philippe?" she called softly. "Philippe…"

Slowly the boy opened his eyes.

"Maman?" he whispered, giving a huge yawn. "Is it already morning?"

"No, it's still evening," she replied. "You have to get up now. You fell asleep in Uncle Erik's house, and we want to go home."

With a little support of Christine's hands, Philippe came into a sitting position. Yet he still didn't seem to be fully awake. He kept blinking sleepily and looked around as if he had never seen the room before.

"What time is it?" she asked me. "Can we drink another cup of tea before we leave? It would surely help him wake up properly."

I threw a glance at the clock in the corner, behind Orpheus' perch, and my eyes widened in disbelief.

"Half past six?" I muttered faintly. Where had the time gone? I'd have never thought we had been here for such a long time.

Christine inhaled sharply.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed. "We should have been home for dinner at six. Larisse will be sick with worry. And Meg! You were supposed to take her home. I hope she waited for us."

"This gets even better," I said. "I told your butler to pick us up at half past five. Do you think he'll still be there?"

"I suppose so," she answered uncertainly. "Where else should he have gone? But we really have to hurry now."

"Do you still have objections to me carrying the boy?" I asked.

"No," she replied. "He's too sleepy to walk all the way back." We both looked at him. His eye lids had drooped again.

About twenty minutes later we had left the house and the lake behind and were hurrying up a corridor. All the positive thoughts that had filled my head before had given way to a terrible suspicion. What if the butler had started searching for us in the opera? It was evening, which meant that at least the younger chorus girls were returning to their dormitories. It was true that no one had paid attention to us when we had entered the building, yet who knew whether it would stay that way? Chorus girls, still fresh after an afternoon of doing nothing, and any potential gossip material were a dangerous combination.

Yet it seemed that there was no reason for me to worry. When we reached the street, panting, the butler was sitting in the coach. He looked just as stiff as usual, maybe a little more.

"I'm very sorry, Jacques," Christine said as she climbed into the coach. "We were so busy that we just forgot the time…" Her eyes met mine, and she winked at me. I smiled. That had been a nice way of putting it.

Naturally the butler hadn't noticed the glances we were throwing each other behind his back. He only made a slightly impatient motion with his head, indicating that I should get in quickly. His amount of self-restraint was amazing. If someone had made me wait outside a building with nothing else to do for more than an hour, that person would have needed more than a simple ´I'm sorry´ to make up for it.

I placed Philippe next to his mother. He wasn't sleeping, but he didn't look very awake either. His head fell against her shoulder immediately, and he closed his eyes. I made to sit down on the bench behind them, yet Christine pointed at the few inches free space on her other side. Obediently I took a seat there. I liked it better that way, of course.

At last the butler could give the horse the signal to start walking. It was very comfortable to sit in the coach, next to Christine, watching the streets. It was slowly getting dark outside, and still the streets were full of people. There were many theatres and restaurants in this part of the city; it rarely grew quiet before midnight.

Yet the closer we came to the de Chagny's neighbourhood, the fewer people there were outside. The families living here were eating dinner at this time of day, and when they went out afterwards, they did so in coaches. We fitted right in, which was a feeling completely unfamiliar to me.

As we stopped at the gate, Philippe's eyes snapped open.

"Are we home?" he asked in a sleepy whisper.

"Yes," his mother replied. "Do you think you can walk to the house?"

He nodded firmly. We left the coach, and Christine and I took the boy by the hands. I'd have preferred carrying him again, but I sensed that he wouldn't have liked it. I could only guess that he didn't want his sister to see him being carried around like a little child.

We walked very slowly, so that it took us a while to reach the house. By the time we were halfway up the stairs, the door was opened slightly, and Jacqueline peered outside.

"I saw you from the window," she explained hastily, interpreting my scolding glance correctly. I had told them not to open the door to anyone. "It's good that you're here at last," she went on, ushering us into the house. "When you didn't show up for dinner, Larisse grew very worried. She didn't want to hear anything about you simply being late. She insisted on her theory that something terrible had happened to you. Gabriel and I could hardly keep her from alerting the police."

The surreal image of a hundred policemen coming down to my lair, only to find Christine and me without clothes in my coffin, made me feel very warm. Yet no one seemed to notice my suddenly rosy cheek.

"Gabriel?" Christine repeated. "Is he feeling better?"

"Yes, he stood up at around three in the afternoon, and hasn't been to bed ever since," Jacqueline answered. "He also looks much healthier. And he's been eating enough to feed half a dozen men. I think he's recovering very nicely… He's in the dining room, by the way. Why don't you go there and look for yourself? I'll visit Larisse in the kitchen and tell her that she can stop being worried."

"That's a good idea,"Christine said. "You can take Philippe with you. Surely Larisse was mostly worried about him." The maid seized the boy's hand, and they walked away, while my beloved and I made our way to the dining room.

The coachman was indeed sitting at the table, a bowl of soup and a cup of tea in front of him. I hadn't seen him when he had been lying in bed, but he looked rather healthy now. Only the pale colour of his face and the large scarf around his neck showed me that he had been ill.

He looked up from his soup when we entered the room.

"Good evening," he greeted us. "I hope you don't mind me sitting here. Larisse said the kitchen was much too cold for me, and since you weren't here yet anyway…"

"We don't mind," I told him. "It's good to see that you're recovering, for I have a task for you. I need someone who's able to protect the family while Jacques and I take Mme.Tavoire home."

"I'll do everything I can," he assured me, yet Christine tapped me on my shoulder, shaking her head.

"I hate to interrupt you, but it won't work like that," she said. "Your plan has one flaw."


	114. Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen

**Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

"What?" I asked not very intelligently. I hd just been in the middle of explaining my plan and didn't like being interrupted. Couldn't Christine have at least waited until I was finished? Yet apparently it was something important. Turning around I saw the serious expression on her face and knew that her objection, whatever it was, would be justified.

"What is it, Christine?" I repeated in a much more gentle voice than before. "What have I overlooked?"

She gave me a small smile, and at once I felt guilty for not having been nice from the beginning.

"Well, you haven't considered the fact that Jacques isn't a young man anymore," she replied. "He has been driving the coach all day, and I don't think he should do more. Besides…" She lowered her voice to a whisper and threw an anxious glance at the door before going on: "…his eyesight isn't as good as it used to be, especially in the dark. But don't mention at word of it to him! He wouldn't admit it anyway. He hates being regarded as weak.".

Who'd have thought that the butler and I had something in common after all? I could understand his fear of showing weakness and the resulting stubborn claim that he could do everything as well as a young man. So far, it seemed to have worked rather well, at least as far as I was concerned. His age had been a piece of information at the back of my mind, but I had never thought about how it might affect him. Yet Christine was right: I couldn't make him drive a coach in the dark if he didn't see properly. An accident was the last thing I wanted.

Now I needed a new plan, though.

"Who else could drive the second coach then?" I wondered aloud.

"I guess I could try if I…" The rest of Gabriel's sentence was swallowed by some loud coughs. Quickly he clapped his hand over his mouth, giving us an apologetic shrug.

"No," Christine and I said in almost perfect unison.

"That's impossible," she went on. "A few hours ago you were still lying in bed. And no matter how much you eat now, you haven't regained your strength yet. It would be just as dangerous as sending Jacques. The horse would only have to pull a little more firmly, and you'd have to let go of the reins."

He nodded reluctantly.

"But I want to do something to help," he assured us. "I'll take care of everyone in this house. Nobody will come in as long as I'm here."

"That's very friendly of you," I said, although I secretly hoped no one would try to come in. I wasn't sure how much protection Gabriel could offer in his present state. "But it still leaves us with only one coachman: me. Do you think one of the neighbours would help us?" I asked Christine.

"Maybe," she replied uncertainly. "I don't feel good about going to them, though. They'd have a lot of questions about why Meg can't drive home alone. Besides, their coachman would see you, and that could be the start of rumours. Do you want that?"

"Certainly not," I answered firmly. The less rumours there were, the safer we could feel.

"Raoul let me take over the reins every now and then when we had the coach to ourselves," Christine muttered pensively. "But I don't think that I know enough about it to drive a coach in the dark."

"You won't leave the house," I decided. The mere thought that my beloved could risk her life for my sake made shivers run down my spine. I'd never let that happen.

"I knew I heard voices," someone at the door said in that moment, interrupting my pondering. Looking over I saw Meg standing there, a smile on her face. "I was upstairs with Antoinette," she explained, coming closer. "I had to get her away from your cook. The poor woman was so worried that I was afraid it might influence the child, making her upset as well. So we spent the last hour sitting in her room, reading. Where have you been all the time? Was there something at the opera so fascinating that you had to stay there for hours and hours, or have you been somewhere else afterwards?" She obviously tried to hide her curiosity, but it didn't work. It was clear that she wanted to hear every little detail of what had happened.

I jerked my head into the direction of the coachman and pressed my finger against my lips. I was aware that sooner or later Meg would find out what Christine and I had done, and I cared surprisingly little about it. She was my beloved's best friend, after all, and had the right to know certain things. I understood that much about friendship. And since I hadn't made a fool of myself when we had been together, I didn't mind them talking about it.

Yet what I wanted to avoid was creating gossip for the servants. If Gabriel knew it, the others would eventually know it, too. And then one of them, probably Jacques, was bound to tell the Vicomte about it, and I didn't want that to happen. It was up to Christine whether she's talk to him about it. Not even I, and certainly not that old butler, would influence the decision she'd have to make at a much later point.

"We just forgot the time," Christine replied with a tell-tale wink. "You know that it can happen every now and then…"

"Oh yes, I know," Meg said, her smile widening. I couldn't tell whether she had managed to understand the extend of what had happened from her friend's vague comment only, but it was clear that she was thinking into the right direction. "But what's all the talking about coaches then?" she wanted to know. "I must have heard that word half a dozen times while I was coming down the corridor. You should really think about closing the door."

I briefly filled her in on the details of the plan that had turned out to be impossible.

"I'm not sure I understand the problem," she muttered when I was finished. "How do you think I came here? I have an own coachman, of course. I've given him a few hours off while I was here. He should be here any minute."

"That's not the point," I told her, feeling a little indignant because she had indirectly accused me of being stupid. "I know you have a coachman. The problem is that he can't guarantee your safety like I can. That's why I wanted to accompany you. But now…"

We all thought about it for a few moments. Finally Christine said slowly:

"Why don't you drive Meg's coach, and her coachman takes ours? Then you could take care of her and drive home with our coach afterwards.".

A smile spread across my face. That was the solution. And it was so simple. Why hadn't I thought of it myself? The fact that she had referred to the coach as ´ours´ was an added advantage. She really seemed to regard us as a unit, a family.

"That's an excellent idea," I praised her. "We'll do it exactly like that – right now!"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Christine asked softly.

"Again?" I muttered, giving her a puzzled look. What else was there to forget? Had Meg's coachman problems with seeing in the dark as well?

"Dinner," she reminded me. "We haven't had anything for hours, and I won't let either of you leave the house before you've eaten. My pride as hostess doesn't allow that."

As if she'd somehow heard that we were talking about food, Mme.Gardé chose exactly this moment to enter the kitchen, carrying a tray with an enormous tureen.

"I'm so sorry," she exclaimed, walking towards the table. "I would have been here much sooner, but the soup needed re-heating. It was stone-cold because you didn't… you didn't… Well, I'm very glad you're here now." With these words she placed the tray on the table.

As she drew nearer, I could see that her eyes were suspiciously red. Apparently she had been so upset that she had cried. I couldn't help feeling just a little guilty because our lateness had made her upset. Maybe I should do the Signora Marchesi approach and buy her some flowers. Fortunately my next time of being with Christine would take place in this very house, so that one one would get worried… no matter how long it would take.

With that very pleasant thought on my mind I settled down at the table. It was only then that I noticed there were other people in the room now than there had been before. The coachman, who had already been finished eating, had gone. Jacqueline and the children had entered the room after the cook, carrying various other things we'd need. When everyone had sat down, we started eating.

My beloved and her friend, who were sitting at the other side of the table, ate little, but talked a lot. Even though I knew that I was probably the subject of their conversation, I resisted the temptation to listen to it. If it was positive, there was no need for me to hear it, and if it was negative, I didn't want to hear it. Instead, I concentrated my attention on Antoinette's chatting about ballet. I knew enough about the topic to impress her with a few anecdotes and make Philippe join the conversation as well. I earned a few surprised glances from Jacqueline. She finally seemed to understand that there was more to me than what met the eye.

The girl was just in the middle of telling us all about her favourite ballet, when Gabriel entered the room.

"There's someone at the door," he said. "I heard the knocking when I walked down the corridor, but I wasn't sure whether I should open the door."

"I'll do it," I told him, hoping I sounded braver than I felt. I didn't feel like opening another of those parcels.


	115. Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen

**Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen**

**September 17th 1892: **_Christine_

Jut one or two minutes after he had left the room, Erik returned. He was accompanied by a tall man in his thirties. Even though Erik wasn't as much as touching him, it was clear that he was in complete control of the situation. The expression on his face was grim.

The other man was peering at him anxiously, his eyes lingering on the mask. The moment he spotted Meg at the table he called:

"Mme.Tavoire! He just wouldn't believe me. Could you tell him I'm your coachman, please?".

"Yes, he is," Meg said quickly.

Erik went back to his seat, muttering something that sounded like "One can never be too cautious.".

I gave him a smile. I could understand him very well. He was under a lot of pressure at the moment. Many seemingly harmless situations could turn out to be very dangerous, and he couldn't know anyone who was knocking at our door. Asking first was definitely better than regretting not having done it later.

Yet apparently the coachman didn't have that much understanding.

"Do I look so suspicious?" he wanted to know, glaring at Erik. "First I have to wait and wait on the doorstep because no one's willing to let me in, and then this… man treats me like a criminal. As if he'd be the right person to judge others! With face like that – "

I watched Erik grip the edge of the table more and more firmly with every word the coachman uttered. It was only a matter of time till he'd explode. Yet surprisingly it was Meg who spoke first.

"Be quiet!" she snarled. "Erik is a very close friend of the de Chagny family as well as of mine. If I hear you say one more unfriendly word about him, you'll soon be knocking at a door again – ours. And this time, no one will let you in."

It was slightly unnerving to see my friend this angry. Normally she was a person who only rarely grew furious, and not for a very long time either. Suddenly she strangely reminded me of her mother, whose authority was still unquestioned by everyone at the opera. I'd have never thought Meg could be like that as well.

A moment of stunned silence followed her words. Then the coachmen cleared his throat and muttered:

"Whatever. I'll be in the stable and see what the horse is doing then. Tell me when it'll be time to leave.".

"I'll come with you," Erik said. "There's something I have to talk to you about, concerning the journey… now that you seem to be willing to talk to me like a normal person."

Judging by the expression on his face, the coachman would rather have had a conversation with the devil himself that with Erik, but he knew better than to refuse. They left the room together.

"Why were you so unfriendly to the man?" The question seemed to be on both children's minds, but, just as usual, it was Antoinette who uttered it.

Meg gulped, looking at me nervously. Apparently she wanted me to provide an answer, figuring that as a mother I was more qualified that her.

"The man said very rude things about Uncle Erik," I replied after a moment's thinking. "So Meg told him he couldn't treat Uncle Erik like that. She only had to speak more loudly because she wanted to make him pay attention." I didn't add that if Meg hadn't said something, Erik himself would probably have taken more drastic actions. The coachman had no idea how lucky he had been only to be scolded.

"But what has all that to do with his face?" Philippe suddenly asked. "I heard the man say something about Uncle Erik's face, but I don't know why he said that. What did he mean - ´With a face like that…´? Uncle Erik never wanted to tell me why he's wearing a mask, but I really want to know it now. What's wrong with his face?"

The silence that followed those questions was even more absolute than the one after Meg's shouting.

I was speechless, completely and utterly speechless. At the back of my mind I had known that sooner or later the children would have such questions. Yet somehow I had hoped I wouldn't be around then. And now that the situation was there, I didn't have a plan how to react. Should I tell them the truth? ´The right side of Uncle Erik's face is so horribly disfigured that no one, not even he himself, can bear to look at it. That's why he's wearing a mask. When I first saw his face, I nearly passed out in shock.´ No. That sounded awful. The children would have nightmares if I told them such things. They'd never look at Erik again with that love in their eyes I saw there now.

Should I try a less drastic approach? ´Uncle Erik's face looks different from what people are used to. So he wears a mask in order not to startle them.´ That sounded marginally better, but it wasn't possible either. If I started like that, the children would ask countless questions, and before I'd have even realised it, I'd have told them the whole story, which surely wasn't suitable for them.

What I needed was… Erik. Yes, exactly. It was all about him, after all. He had to decide how much or how little to tell them. Given the fact that he always like to be well-prepared, it was even possible the he already had a plan how to approach the subject in a sensible way and how to address the children's fears and worries. Just like me, he was bound to know that such questions would come up eventually.

As soon as that thought had established itself in my head, I grew calm again. The moment of blind panic was over.

"Well, Philippe," I started. "It's a very long and complicated story, and I couldn't tell you as well as Uncle Erik himself. That's why you'll have to wait a little… till tomorrow."

"And what about me?" Antoinette interjected, obviously angry because for once I had only spoken to Philippe. "Why will only he hear the story? It's his uncle, yes, he had him first, but now he lives here, and want to know about his face, too." It was always amazing how much she could talk without pause.

I gave a little sigh.

"He'll answer your questions as well," I assured her. I wasn't certain whether Erik would prefer talking to them together or separately, so I had to be careful what I said.

If I had assumed my daughter would be content now, I had been wrong.

"Why can we only talk to him tomorrow?" she asked. "He could tell us later today."

"No," I replied, trying to sound gentle, despite the fact that I was slowly growing a little annoyed. "Uncle Erik will take Meg home after dinner, and by the time he'll come back you'll be in bed." Frankly I was very glad it was like that. If Erik had returned sooner, Antoinette wouldn't have left him in peace till she'd have heard the entire story, and I wanted to give him time to prepare himself.

"That reminds me… If you still want to play a little before going to bed, you have to go to your rooms now," I went on.

Knowing our evening routine, the children didn't object. They got up from their chairs, bade Meg and me goodnight and left the dining room, followed by Jacqueline.

"As soon as Uncle Erik comes to pick up Meg, I'll send him to say goodnight to you," I called after them.

"That was very good," Meg remarked when we were alone. "They seemed to be content, even though strictly speaking you didn't tell them anything."

"I couldn't have," I said defiantly. "It's up to Erik and – "

"You don't have to justify yourself," she interrupted me. "I meant what I said. You did it very well. I don't know what I'd have told them."

"It was difficult," I admitted openly. "Especially with Philippe…"

My friend threw me a surprised glance.

"I always thought Antoinette was the more exhausting child," she muttered. "All those questions she has…"

"In general that's true," I acknowledged with an affectionate smile. I loved my daughter, even though she could be a little tiresome. Or maybe because of it. "But when it comes to Erik, Philippe's opinion is the one that matters most. You know how much Erik loves him. If the child started being afraid of him… it would break his heart."

"I see," she said slowly. "So let's hope everything will be fine then."

Having said all we could about the subject, we stood up as well and made our way to the entrance door. We knew the coaches would be ready any minute. And indeed we only had to wait a few moments before the door was opened and Erik came in.

"Oh, you're already here," he commented. "Well, we can leave. I just want to say goodbye to the children first. Are they already in their rooms?"

I nodded, but before he had made two steps into the direction of the stairs, I caught him by the arm.

"Don't you want to say goodbye to me first?" I whispered. I cupped his face and gave him a long, sensual kiss. There would be a time when we'd have to have a serious discussion about the topic of his face and the children, but it was not now. I didn't want to send him away while he was worried. "Come back soon," I added, letting my hand wander over his chest.

"I will," he promised, looking deep into my eyes.


	116. Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen

**Author's note:** Merry Christmas to all my readers! I hope you'll have a phantastic time!

**Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

Saying goodbye was terrible. I had never liked it. Up to now, the worst moment of saying goodbye had been on the first night of ´Don Juan Triumphant´, more than ten years ago. It had taken me months to become anything like my normal self again, and perhaps I'd never recover entirely. Yet wasn't my present situation much worse? Now I finally knew that Christine loved me, and still I had to leave her. Admittedly I'd only be gone for one or two hours, but it was too much.

Sitting on the coachbox, I felt as if I had left my heart behind at the house of the de Chagnys, which was slowly becoming a spot in the distance behind us. But then, I was far from alone. Meg was next to me on the bench. She had insisted that this was exactly the right place for her to sit. ´If I were at the back of the coach, you wouldn't know what's going on with me. You wouldn't even see me. Someone could attack me, and you wouldn't notice anything.´ There had been nothing to be said about that kind of logic. After all, I myself had introduced the whole topic of the attacks spreading over to her.

Yet I couldn't help thinking that her wish to sit next to me had a completely different reason than safety: She wanted to talk to me. And I wasn't sure whether I was comfortable with it. I had never had any close contact to Meg. Of course I knew some things about her life. Since I had spent so much time studying Christine's life, that had been inevitable. Still I had no idea what I could speak to her about. But then, I figured it was safer to start a conversation myself than to let her do it, taking the risk that she'd choose a topic I wouldn't like.

"So… how is your mother?" I asked. Mme.Giry seemed to be a very good subject. Apart from Christine, she was the only one linking Meg and me.

"She's fine," Meg replied. "She used to have a little trouble with her back a few months ago, but it has become a lot better. The doctor told her to work less. You can probably imagine the way she looked at him…"

I nodded, unable to keep from smiling. It must have been the same stern glance the chorus girls lived in fear of. I didn't envy the doctor.

"Has he suddenly decided to retire early after your mother went to see him?" I wanted to know.

She chuckled about my remark.

"No, but he never dared say such an outrageous thing to her again," she answered. "She sometimes sits down during a rehearsal, though. That's as much of a concession as she was willing to make."

"Yes, that sounds just like her," I agreed. "And frankly speaking, I'm glad about it. We couldn't ask for a better ballet mistress. Of course the dancers complain about her every now and then, but they don't mean it. The Opéra Populaire wouldn't be the same without Mme.Giry… or without Meg Giry, for that matter."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her beam at me. She knew how rare my compliments were.

"Oh, thank you," she muttered. "I just wish everyone would share that opinion. Many dancers would like to see me step aside, sooner rather than later."

"They're only jealous," I assured her. "They know that they'll never dance as well as you do, even if they practice in every free minute from now until the end of their lives. That does create hard feelings, but you should try not to listen to them."

I was a little surprised about how serious our conversation had suddenly become. Yet at the same time I was pleased that Meg seemed to trust me enough to talk to me about things that were troubling her.

"It's not just that," she admitted. "There's always been jeaousy, yet ever since I married Jean, it has become more… vicious. You know that many chorus girls regard their prefession as an easy method of getting to know rich men. As soon as they've found one who is willing to marry them, they stop performing. And now some of them seem to think it very selfish of me that I have both a husband and a job."

"And how do they express those feelings?" I asked instantly. Meg's story had made me more than just slightly worried. I had had no idea that hostility at such a level existed among the chorus girls. I prided myself to know everything that was happening at the opera, and now I hadn't known that. It was not a good sign. Was I growing less perceptive?

"Well, they talk about me," she replied, her eyes fixed on the road, as if she were the one who had to drive. "They say I wasn't a good dancer anymore, and if my mother wasn't the ballet mistress, I'd have had to leave the opera a long time ago. Besides, they always compare me to Christine. In their opinion, she did it correctly: She stopped singing as soon as she got married. Yes, I know that she had already stopped working as a singer before she married Raoul, but they don't care about such little details. They only see the world the way they like best." She shrugged, as if to indicate that nothing would ever change such opinions.

Up to now, I had been able to hold myself back. But the moment Christine was mentioned I knew I had to say something.

"That's the biggest nonsense I've heard in a long time!" I exclaimed furiously.

The horse's ears twitched nervously, and its back grew tense. It obviously thought I had scolded it. I made a series of comforting sounds, and it calmed down again. When I continued speaking, it was in a softer voice. Apart from the fact that I didn't want to scare the horse, I also wanted to avoid that Meg's coachman, who was driving behind us, would be able to hear what we talked about.

"Christine didn't stop singing because she got married," I said. "It was… well, I think it was because of me. She rejected me, so she had to reject music as well. I'll never forgive myself that I've taken one of the best singers of the century from the Parisian stages…"

I fell silent. It was the first time I had spoken about that particular guilt, and I wasn't even sure why I had done it. It had just slipped out of my mouth before I could have held it back.

It was obvious from her silence that Meg didn't know how to deal with my revelation. That made me a little angry. Did she assume that she was the only one with the right to talk about her feelings? Yet when she spoke, in a soft, considerate voice, I realised she had only needed time to choose her words carefully.

"I don't think it's right to blame yourself only," she told me. "There were so many things going wrong in those months. Do you think I never feel guilty? I wonder over and over whether things would have been different if I had listened to her more, if I had tried to help her… Of course I blame myself. But one mustn't forget that it happened in the past, and worrying makes nothing better."

I had never thought about it like that. But then, I'd have also never thought that someone except for me and possibly the Vicomte could be held responsible for Christine's situation. Through the mist of my thoughts I heard Meg's voice.

"We can't change the past, Erik, but we can try to improve the present. And that's what you're doing for Christine."

"Indeed?" I mumbled bitterly. "I've caused her so much pain…"

"…and so much joy," she finished quietly. "Christine is very happy with you, believe me."

"But what will happen once the Vicomte will be back?" I asked. I couldn't help myself: It was impossible for me to think about the joyful present without considering the future.

"I can't look into the future," Meg replied simply. "If I could, I'd have done quite a few things differently in my life. Why don't you just take it as it comes? There are aspects of the future you can't change either. The sooner you accept that fact, the better."

I wondered when this conversation had drifted off into being rather strange. Here I was, getting advice from my beloved's best friend and actually enjoying it.

"You're a very good friend," I remarked. "Christine is glad that she has you. And I don't want you to be sad either. You just have to tell me the names of those other dancers, and I'll show them that your mother isn't the only one at the opera who supports you. They'll curse the day they decided to come to the Opéra Populaire." I could only remember too well that Meg had been on my side when her coachman had insulted me, and I was determined to do the same for her.

Meg smiled at me. She had just opened her mouth – whether to start with the names ot to tell me I didn't have to do anything, I didn't know – when the ear-splitting sound of breaking wood echoed through the nearly empty street.

"What was that?" Meg cried anxiously.


	117. Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen

**Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

Meg had barely uttered her question when we heard a second noise behind us. I had thought the one before to be loud, but it had been nothing compared to this one. It was so loud that Meg covered her ears with her hands. I felt the urge to do the same, but it was impossible. I had to comfort the horse, which was in panic. Its ears pressed flat against its head, which it held much too high, it only knew one way to react to the seeming threat: running away.

It was good that I was wearing leather gloves, or the animal might have succeeded in pulling the reins out of my hands. Yet instead of pulling against it, thus causing the horse more pain, I used a combination of releasing and pulling I had learned many years ago. The soothing quality of my voice had quite a good effect as well. Still it took a few minutes of racing down the road till I managed to make the horse stop.

The poor animal was trembling from head to hooves, and there were large dark patches of sweat on its normally white body. I was trembling, too, from the effort as well as from shock, and Meg… It was only now that I noticed she had flung her arms around my body and was holding me tight. When she realised that the danger was over, she disentangled herself from me. Under normal circumstances she might have blushed, but now her face was pale and shining with sweat.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, straightening her skirts. "I just… had to hold onto something. I was so scared I could be thrown off the coach."

"It's all right," I assured her, giving her a thin smile, which was all I was capable of at the moment. "I was scared, too. But now we've got to find out what has happened."

Fortunately the street was broad enough for me to make the coach turn around. Persuading the horse to go back to the place it had just fled from turned out to be a much more difficult task. No matter how comforting my words were, the only direction into which it moved was backwards. Of course I had a whip, but I'd have never used it on a frightened animal.

Finally Meg and I left the coach, and I asked a man who was just coming down the street to hold the horse for a while. In exchange for a few coins he was more than willing to do so. As we hurried to the place where we had heard the noise, I noticed that there were far more people in the street now than there had been before. The reason soon became clear to me, as I made my way through the crowd and saw the full extend of what had happened.

The de Chagnys' coach, which had been behind us all the time, was lying on the ground, on its right side. As far as I could see, both wheels on that side were not on their usual place. They were lying a few yards away. Slowly I let my gaze wander over the wooden frame. A lot of it was broken, but replacing it wouldn't be too hard, I thought automatically. One or two days in the hands of a talented carpenter, then the coach would run smoothly again.

Yet I wasn't foolish enough to seriously believe that I was examining the coach closely because I was interested in it. I just wanted to avoid looking at the two others involved in the accident. After one or two minutes, however, I could no longer postpone it. Slowly I looked over at the place whete the horse usually was.

It was not as bad as it could have been. To my enormous relief the animal was not lying on the ground. Apparently two men had freed the mare from her reins. One of them still held a large pocket knife in his hand, while the other one tried to comfort the completely distressed horse. She was unnaturally calm, probably from the shock. Fortunately nothing seemed to be broken. There were a few scratches on her sides, where the pole had hit her, but apart from that there were no visible injuries.

I approached the men quickly.

"This is my coach," I informed them. "Did you see what happened?"

"Of course," the man holding the horse said readily, hardly looking up from stroking the mare's neck. "Gilles here…" He pointed at the man with the knife. "… and I were just coming down the street when two coaches passed us. Suddenly – I know how strange this must sound, but you've got to believe me – both wheels on the right side of the second coach fell off. They just fell off, almost at the same time and without any reason. I mean, the coach didn't run over a big stone or something like that. It swayed, then crashed to the ground. We ran over and tried to help at once. The horse had fallen, too, and couldn't free itself, so we did it. We had to cut the reins, though. I hope you don't mind, Monsieur."

"Of course I don't mind," I assured him. There were far more important things than reins on my mind at the moment. "And what happened to the coachman?" I asked quickly.

Both men shrugged.

"We only saw that he was thrown out of the coach when it fell to the ground," the man with the knife replied. "There were a few people caring for him, so we thought it better to look after the horse…" He smiled apologetically. "The man's over there," he added, gesturing vaguely as a spot next to the coach, where indeed five or six people were standing in a circle.

I knew I had to go there, too, but I also had to make sure the mare would be cared for.

"I can't take the horse home in her present state," I explained. "She looks much too exhausted. Do either of you know a place where she could stay for the night?"

The man called Gilles nodded.

"There's a blacksmith just around the corner," he answered. "He has a little stable, and as far as I know, there should be room for one more horse."

"Then take her there," I said. Hastily I thrust my hand into the pocket of my jacket and pulled out a few bank notes. "This should be enough for the blacksmith," I added. "And this…" I gave them another one. "…is for you. You've been very helpful. Thank you, Messieurs."

"You're welcome," the men said, leading the horse away slowly. At least it wasn't lame.

I watched them for a few moments, then I went over to the other people. It was here that I saw Meg again. She was kneeling next to the coachman, who lay on the ground. His face was as white as milk, yet he wasn't unconscious. His eyes were open, and I could hear him try to talk to Meg in a faint whisper. Quickly I knelt down on his other side. Now I could understand him.

"…don't know… what happened… just fell… fell… how… why…?"

"Don't try to speak now," I advised him. "It'll only make you more tired."

Meg, who only seemed to have noticed me now, looked up with gratitude in her eyes. The people surrounding us merely gawked at us, and apparently she appreciated the support of someone who'd actually do something.

"Does a doctor live nearby?" I asked the crowd. A young man nodded. "Then get him here," I ordered. "Tell him I'll pay for all his expenses." The man nodded again and left.

"Can't you do anything?" Meg asked pleadingly. "He looks so terrible…" She wasn't wrong about that. The man's clothes were torn and dirty, and there was a disturbing amount of blood, especially around his head, which couldn't be a good sign.

"Well, I do have some knowledge of how to take care of injuries," I started cautiously. "I myself only go to the doctor's when it can't be avoided. But this is serious. If I do something wrong, this man could regret it for the rest of his life."

So we waited. The doctor, an elderly, balding man, arrived after ten extremely long minutes. Fortunately he had already been told what had happened, so we didn't have to do it. He began to examine the coachman's body closely, prodding it at various places, bending the arms and legs and peering into his eyes. Meg and I watched the scene with baited breath.

Finally the doctor straightened up again.

"He was lucky," he said, coming to his feet. "There are no broken bones. As far as I can see, his thick travelling cloak cushioned the fall. The arm he landed on is heavily bruised, though. So is his back. The blood mostly comes from a cut at the back of his head, but I've bandaged it."

I threw him a sceptical glance. All that didn't sound like my interpretation of the word ´lucky´.

"It could have been much worse," he told me. "If he had landed under the coach… Let's try not to think about it. He should lie in bed for a few days… maybe a week… till his head feels better. It'll take weeks for the bruises to fade away completely, but apart from that, he'll be fine." With these final words, the doctor took the money from me and walked away.

Fifteen minutes later everything was settled. A few men had agreed to drag the coach to the side of the street, so that no one would accidentally run over it on the dark. They had also carried the coachman to the other coach and placed him on the bench. Now we could finally continued our journey.

This time we rode in silence, though, with the occasional groans of the coachman as only interruption. I was driving as quickly as possible without causing the man more pain. I didn't feel safe here anymore. All I wanted was reach the Tavoire estate and go home again.


	118. Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen

**Author's note: **I wish all my readers a happy new year!

**Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

They were watching us. That was the only answer to the question how they could have known when would be the best moment to manipulate the wheels of the coach. There hadn't been more than twenty minutes between Jacques leaving the part of the stable where the coach stood and the coachman and me entering it. So it was almost impossible that they had merely been lucky.

They were watching us. Admittedly I had suspected it before, but learning it in such a way was something completely different. For once, I wouldn't have minded being wrong. The thought that someone was sneaking around the house, peering through windows, possibly even seeing my beloved in indecent situations, made me feel sick and angry. Fortunately I had already warned her to stay away from the windows, though at that time it had been for a different reason.

They were watching us. This confirmed my suspicion that there were more than one person attacking us. A single person could never follow us all day and all night. Not even I had managed to do that when I had been watching over Christine. One either had to make certain concessions to the urge to eat and sleep, thus taking the risk of missing a few things, or else one had to have help. Jacqueline had supported me over the years, and Narelle had been very helpful at the opera, but I knew how hard it was to find such people and keep them under control.

There had to be one person in charge of all this, one person who planned the attacks and made others carry them out. I assumed that it either was someone rich or charismatic, possibly both. It took a lot to be the leader of a group, to make sure that none of them grew bored or started to brag about the project in public. If money was the main incentive for those people, I'd stand a chance if I ever found one of them. Money wasn't a problem for me. But if they carried out that person's instructions out of more personal reasons, it would be difficult.

This led me back to the question I had thought about quite a few times so far: Why would someone want to attack the de Chagnys? I could have understood that someone had a grudge against the Vicomte, yet what I had heard at the butcher's had been clear: The attacks were meant to be for the whole family. And this was what I could not understand. Christine was the loveliest woman in the world. How could someone not like her? And Antoinette and Philippe… they were only children. They couldn't possibly have anything to do with it.

"Meg, do you know anyone who could have something against Christine or the Vicomte or the entire family?" I asked, breaking the silence for the first time ever since we had left the street where the accident had taken place.

If she was surprised by my question, she didn't show it. At least she didn't demand an explanation. In fact, I suspected that she had thought about exactly the same subject, for the answer came very quickly.

"Well, I guess there must be some people who have something against Raoul on a professional level," she replied pensively. "People whom he refused to give money are bound not to like him. Or maybe someone whose project failed blames him for it. But I don't know too much about that. You'd have to talk to his business partner."

"Somehow I don't think the reason for this is to be found on the business level," I muttered. "As far as I know, neither the Vicomte's business partner nor any of his projects have been attacked, and those would have been easier targets and harder to protect than a family… What about Christine? If someone hated her, attacking the family would make sense… for someone who's insane, of course."

"You mean apart from Signora Marchesi? Let me – "

I didn't let her finish the sentence.

"Signora Marchesi?" I repeated. "I thought I was the one she didn't like. She barely knows Christine. Why should she hate her?"

Meg threw me a sideways glance.

"For the same reason why Carlotta didn't like her: jealousy," she answered.

"But why should she be jealous?" I wanted to know. "Christine isn't working as a singer anymore. There's no competition between the two of them."

"Forgive me for saying so, but this shows that you no longer know the latest gossip," she told me. "Even before Christine came to the first night, there were rumours that she'd come back to the opera for good one day, and ever since she has really been there, those rumours have increased. Of course you'd help her become the prima donna again. Signora Marchesi is frightened."

"I see…" I muttered, shaking my head a little. Why didn't I know such things myself anymore? How could it be possible that Meg, who spent far less time at the opera than I did, had to tell me about them? Yet this was not the right time to ponder over such questions. I had to count myself lucky that I had someone like Meg with me. "So you think she could be behind all this?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," she replied. "It's hard to tell what Signora Marchesi is like because she always keeps to herself and rarely shows her true feelings. Even when she's having one of her outbursts on stage… it just doesn't feel real to me. Her heart's not in it. It's as if she was wearing a mask over her true self because she doesn't want anyone to see it. Who knows what depths lie behind it?"

I took the reins in one hand for a moment and tapped my masked cheek.

"Yes… who knows?" I repeated with a lopsided smile.

Meg jumped slightly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to offend you. I completely… forgot… about your mask…"

I couldn't help chuckling softly.

"I don't know how you women do this," I remarked. "Just a few words, and you've turned an insult into a compliment. It's nice to hear that you've forgotten the mask. I sometimes wish I could do the same…"

Silence followed my almost wistful statement. Apparently Meg didn't know what to say about it, and I didn't want to talk about it in more detail either. So I decided to ask another question instead.

"Do you think there's anyone the diva opens up to? Someone I could talk to in order to find out more about her?"

"Her pianist, maybe," she answered. "I've often seen them sitting together, talking. He's not only her pianist, you know, but also a distant relative of hers, the uncle of her cousin's mother or something like that – I can't recall it exactly. She brought him with her from Italy and refuses to practice when he's not around."

I nodded. At least I had known that much myself. I had sometimes heard the diva throw a tantrum when someone had suggested starting to practice without her uncle. I didn't know why I hadn't though of him myself. Discussing things with others really seemed to bring better results than only pondering over them alone.

"Or it could be Estella," Meg said.

"Do you mean Estella Piqué, the chorus girl? She is a confidante of Signora Marchesi?" I asked incredulously. I couldn't believe it. As far as I was informed, the diva didn't think very highly of chorus girls. In her opinion, they were quite useful to stress her importance in the ensemble, but I couldn't imagine that she knew their names or had ever talked more than five sentences to them.

"Oh, no, no," she corrected me with a little laugh. She seemed to find the idea just as ridiculous as I did. "That was not what I meant. I wanted to say that Estella could also be the only planning the attacks."

"But why?" I wanted to know, feeling a little puzzled again. "Are there also rumours that Christine will come back to the opera and become the prima ballerina? Then you should be the one who's frightened…"

"You shouldn't make jokes about so serious a topic," Meg muttered uneasily. "Someone could hear you and really believe I was the one behind it…"

"I'm sorry," I apologised. "I'd never believe that. You're Christine's best friend. But what about this Estella?"

"Well, I've only heard about it this morning, so you mustn't feel bad for not knowing it," she started. "Estella has a sister who is a singer. She used to work at another opera, but she didn't like it there anymore and is looking for a new position, at an opera with a bigger audience, better chances to develop her talents… and richer patrons, of course."

"Wouldn't Signora Marchesi be the right target then?" I asked. "After all, she's the current diva."

"Oh, that's the amusing part of the story," she assured me. "I've overheard Estella telling her best friend Liliane that securing her sister a position at the opera would be very easy for her. All she'd have to do would be finding the Opera Ghost and using her incredible charm to persuade him to hire her sister as the new prima donna. But of course that wouldn't work once Christine was back. Not even Estella would dream of seducing you right under her nose."

"Yes, that sounds like an excellent plan," I said in a very serious voice. "I'm sure it'll work… Just how stupid do those girls think I am?" It had only occurred to me now that Estella had been among those who had once laughed about my inexperience with women. It seemed that she still hadn't learned her lesson.

"The point is that Estella has a father who'd do anything for his daughters," Meg informed me. "Maybe you should tak to Liliane and try to find out how much she knows."

I nodded. On the one hand it was good to have several new leads, but on the other hand… How on earth was I supposed to talk to these people at the same time as protecting the de Chagnys?


	119. Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen

**Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

Meg and I spent most of the rest of the journey pondering over other possible suspects, yet none of those who came to our minds seemed as likely as the first two she had told me about. This was mainly due to the fact that we had thought of those working at the opera, and not many people there knew Christine in person at all. It had been more than ten years since she had been a singer; most chorus girls and stage hands from that time had found new jobs by now or weren't working at all anymore.

It was a sad realisation that if it hadn't been for the story involving Christine, the Vicomte and me, maybe no one would remember her at all.

"You've got to understand this," Meg said. "You know how quickly things develop in the world of opera and theatre. When Christine played the role of Elissa in ´Hannibal´, everyone knew her name, more or less over night. But now… the public isn't interested in people who don't do anything fascinating or outrageous. As far as I can recall, the last time there was something about her in the newspaper was when Philippe had been born… and I believe you were the one responsible for it."

I nodded, remembering the birth announcement. It had been a good idea. Still I didn't understand why Christine wasn't famous anymore. I had worked so hard for her success, and now nobody knew her name. Yet no matter how much I disliked it, it was rather good as far as our suspects were concerned. If she had still been the diva, there would have been a lot more people who hated her because they were jealous. Talking to all of them would have taken me days.

Yet under the given circumstances, even the two people Meg and I had discussed before were too many. After all, I couldn't tear myself in half, talking to people at the opera at the same time as protecting the family at home.

"You could take Christine and the children with you and let them stay in your home while you look for Liliane and the uncle," Meg suggested when I explained the problem to her.

"At least I'd know they were safe," I acknowledged. "This would solve one problem, but create another: The more people see Christine at the opera, the more rumours there will be about her return. So the attempts to stop her would become more drastic as well."

"That's true," Meg agreed. "But maybe you could… invite the two of them to tea, on two different days, of course. Then you'd be able to talk to them, knowing everyone's safe."

"And where exactly do you suggest I should invite them?" I asked. "Dow to my lair? No one in their right mind would come there. In the best case possible they'd only think it to be a joke and throw the invitation away. In the worst case they'd take the police with them. And if I invited them to the de Chagnys' home, they could pass on information about what it looks like from the inside. Besides… I'm not the kind of person who hands out invitations to tea. Don't you think it would be a little suspicious?"

She nodded reluctantly.

"The image people have of you doesn't include tea parties," she said. "Moreover, if you invited Liliane, it would probably be Estella who'd show up. She'd seize the chance to try and seduce you right away." The idea made her chuckle, and I couldn't help doing the same. It was just too absurd.

"Estella… hmm," I made. "I'll have to deal with her as well, in my very own way."

"Will that way involve her death?" she wanted to know, looking at me anxiously. "She's a little stupid and very arrogant, but she doesn't deserve to die."

"No one said anything about death," I muttered. "There are other methods… Perhaps I should indeed start with her, since she's so desperate to meet me. Then I wouldn't have to talk to her friend at all."

"But you wouldn't really… let her seduce you, would you?" Meg asked quickly. "It would break Christine's heart."

"Of course not!" I assured her, shocked that she even thought me capable of doing that. "The only person I ever let seduce me was Christine herself." It took me a moment to realise what I had said, but then I blushed deeply. Giving away that much hadn't been my intention, even if Christine had already talked about it to her friend. "I… erm, I didn't… mean…" I stammered.

"It's all right," she whispered. "I know what happened between her and you… and I don't think it bad," she added. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. There was this… tension between the two of you. It was there ten years ago, and it's there now."

I couldn't keep a broad smile from spreading over my face.

"It was good," I said, for the lack of a better description. If I ever invented an own language, I'd think of a word for those wonderful feelings first.

"I know," Meg gave back, grinning. "Christine told me so."

"And did she also tell you whether there were things that weren't good? Things she didn't like?" I asked. I couldn't help it. If we hadn't started this topic, I'd have kept the question to myself. Yet now that we were talking about it, I simply had to utter it.

"She enjoyed every single moment," Meg replied firmly. "She enjoyed it because it happened with you, and that was what she wanted. You don't have to worry."

"Thank you," I muttered gratefully. I had got the information I had wanted without asking Christine directly, which was worth a lot. It had spared me the embarrassed silence such a discussion would have surely caused.

"That's what friends are for," she remarked casually.

My jaw dropped. I couldn't believe what I had heard.

"F-friends?" I repeated. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I am," she assured me. "We've had several long conversations about our feelings, we've given each other advice, and you saved me in a life-threatening situation. I think this journey qualifies as the beginning of our friendship… unless you don't want to be my friend." She raised an eyebrow.

"There's nothing I'd rather be," I said truthfully. "I'm just a little surprised. Things are developing so quickly at the moment. One day I don't have anyone, and the next I have a wife, a godson and a friend."

"Well, but before that, your life had almost stopped, hadn't it?" Meg asked softly. "Christine told me a few things, my mother told me a few things, and a few things I've seen myself. You haven't been a very happy man in the last ten years, if I may say so."

"I've never been a happy man," I corrected her. "Until now."

We were silent, and I was certain that she was thinking of the same thing I thought of: Once the Vicomte would be back in Paris, reclaiming his place in the family, I wouldn't be happy anymore. Perhaps I'd never be happy again.

It was strange to have a friend now, someone who cared about my feelings, someone who'd be nice and sympathetic in times when life would be anything but nice. Would this make everything all right if Christine chose to leave me? Of course not. There'd be the same agonising pain, the same amount of tears, the same questions repeated over and over in my head. I knew that at the end of the day Meg would always be Christine's friend rather than mine. Yet I hoped she'd also be there for me, at least a little.

We reached the Tavoire estate about a quarter of an hour later. There were lantern burning all the way up to the entrance door, which probably meant we were already being expected. Even the gate was open. The moment we passed it two servants appeared on either side of the coach. One of them seized the reins of the horse, while the other one helped Meg leave the coachbox. She exchanged a few words with him, and he hurried back into the house.

"He'll get help to carry Hugo," she explained. "It would be best if we could get the coach as closely as possible to the house."

By the time we had done so, the servant had returned with another one. Each of them placed one of the coachman's arms around his shoulders, and together they helped him into the house.

"My God! What happened?" a male voice asked, and Jean Tavoire emerged from a room. I hadn't seem him for a while, but I knew it was him. I had seen him at the opera as well as on their wedding, even though I had not been on the guest list. "Why are you coming this late? I was so worried about you, my darling." He took Meg into his arms. She briefly outlined the events to him, promising a more detailed version once they'd be alone.

"And this is Erik, Jean," she finished. "He's a friend of Christine's and also of mine. We know each other from the opera."

"Oh," he made, throwing me a glance that stopped abruptly at my mask. His eyes grew wide. "This cannot be… surely you're not… not the Opera Ghost, are you?" he asked.


	120. Chapter One Hundred and Twenty

**Chapter One Hundred and Twenty**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

I had but one moment to consider my options. Lying and saying I was someone else was out of the question. It would have been ridiculous, since my mask gave away who I was. I could have turned on my heel and run away, yet given the fact that I didn't have a coach, I wouldn't have come very far. Besides, why should I have fled? Not even the police was looking for me anymore. Policemen were too busy with their more recent cases to try and solve one that was more than ten years old. The lessons I had taught the chorus girls and other people at the opera in more recent years had never had legal consequences. The managers had learned their lesson as well.

Still a slight nervousness remained as I replied:

"Yes, Monsieur, I am the Opera Ghost.". I forced myself to look straight into his eyes and didn't let my gaze wander over to Meg. I was a little angry at her. Why didn't she do anything to help me? Moreover, why hadn't she told me sooner that her husband might recognise me? I could have stayed outside. It would have saved me all the trouble.

In the next moment, however, my hand was seized and shaken vigorously.

"It's such a pleasure to meet you," M.Tavoire exclaimed in a delighted voice, without a hint of sarcasm. "Meg has told me all about you. Unfortunately I never saw you in person, although it was one of my dearest wishes. I must have always been at the opera at the wrong time. And now you've come to my house. It's such a pleasure."

"The pleasure's mine," I muttered, feeling very confused. Few people were pleased to see me, and I couldn't recall that anyone, except for Philippe, had ever shown such enthusiasm. Now I had to throw Meg a brief glance, just to make sure her husband didn't have problems with his mental health that I didn't know of. Yet she merely grinned at me broadly.

"Jean is one of your biggest admirers," she said. "I don't know how often I've had to tell him the stories about you. He loves hearing them."

"Well, that's hardly surprising, is it?" he defended himself. He gave my hand a last shake, then let go of it. "You see, Monsieur, when I first came to the opera as a new patron, I didn't like it very much. The people there took themselves much too seriously for my taste. And then I heard of you, who told them how to behave if it was necessary, who didn't care whether somebody was a diva or a stagehand. I thought it was about time that someone did that, especially in such an amusing way. Yet when I met a certain little dancer, the opera got a completely new appeal…" He kissed Meg on the top of her head.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," she remarked. "When we first met, our only topic of conversation was you, Erik. I don't think he'd have ever invited me to dinner if he hadn't heard that my mother knew more about the Opera Ghost than anyone else."

"If that was correct, I'd have invited your mother to dinner instead of bothering with her terribly spoilt daughter," Jean interjected in a teasing voice. "The next thing you'll tell our guest will probably be that I only married you because I wanted a story-teller in the house, which is far from true. I married you because… because…" He scratched his head pensively, earning a slap on the arm from his wife. "…oh yes, because I love you," he finished quickly, and they kissed again.

Listening to them was fascinating. I had never seen a husband and wife behave like that. Up to now, it had never occurred to me that, in addition to being a couple, they could also be good friends. I wondered how much closeness, how much affection it took to become such a couple. Maybe I'd be able to ask Meg about it one day.

"Why don't we take this conversation to the living room?" M.Tavoire suggested, when the kiss was over. "Surely you must be thirsty after the journey. What is your favourite drink, Monsieur? I'm sure we have it here. I have a very fine brandy, for example. Or would you care for a glass of wine? There's this lovely – "

"I'm sorry, M.Tavoire, but I should better go now," I interrupted his enumeration. It wasn't easy for me to refuse the invitation, for he was a very friendly man, but I couldn't help it. "They're waiting for me at home," I added as an explanation. It was the first time I had referred to the de Chagny house as ´home´, and it felt wonderfully right.

"Surely half an hour wouldn't make that much of a difference," he said. "Now that I've finally met you, I'm not going to let you leave that quickly. You've got to tell me about yourself and those amazing tricks of yours. How did you make the faces of the chorus girls blue?"

The temptation to stay and talk to this man, who seemed to adore me, was getting stronger by the second. I was almost convinced to give in when Meg told him:

"Oh Jean, stop it! Erik really doesn't have enough time now. Think about how worried about were when I didn't come back on time. Do you want to put Christine through the same?".

"No, no," he replied. "I'm sorry, Monsieur. I must have forgotten my manners. I was just a little over-excited about meeting you. Of course you can go whenever you want to. But you've got to promise me that you'll come back. Let's see…" He closed his eyes for a moment, apparently thinking hard. Opening them again he went on: "…yes, tomorrow. Meg has a performance in the evening, and I'm sure you'll be there as well, but what about noon? We could meet for lunch here.".

"That's a very generous offer, but I'm afraid I can't leave Christine and the children alone for such a long time," I muttered.

"Oh, you won't have to leave them alone," M.Tavoire assured me. "Of course I meant to invite all of you. Christine is such a pleasure to talk to, and I always enjoy seeing the children. It's a pity that…" His voice trailed off, and almost subconsciously he let his hand wander over Meg's flat stomach. I understood the meaning of the gesture: He regretted not having children of his own yet. For the first time on this evening, the sparkle in his eyes had vanished.

Meg, whose cheeks had grown pale, was staring at the floor, chewing on her bottom lip. It was exactly the way she had looked as a young girl when her mother had scolded her in front of the other dancers. Seeing that, her husband obviously realised his mistake. He leaned down to her.

"I'm so sorry, darling," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "You know I don't blame you. It could be my fault as well as yours. We still have so much time…"

It didn't happen very often that I felt bad about invading someone's privacy by listening to their conversations, but now was one of those occasions. It was clear that he didn't want me to hear what he was saying, and a person with normal hearing surely wouldn't have heard it. I looked into the other direction, pretending to have gone temporarily deaf.

After a few moments, M.Tavoire seemed to recall the fact that they were not alone.

"Anyway," he said briskly. "I believe Raoul won't be able to join us tomorrow. He's in Sweden at the moment, isn't he?"

"Norway," Meg corrected him quietly. She forced herself to smile at me, even though she apparently didn't feel like it. "That's the reason why Erik is living with the de Chagnys."

"Of course," he muttered. "You've just told me about it. It must have slipped my mind… Well, since there doesn't seem to be anything that'll tempt you into staying here, all I can do now is offer you a coach, Monsieur, unless you'd rather walk." We all smiled about his feeble joke.

"Actually a horse would be quite enough," I told him. "I don't need a whole coach, just for myself. I could take the horse back to you when we come to lunch tomorrow. With a coach that would be more difficult." Meg and I exchanged a glance of deep understanding. I didn't feel the urge to repeat the chaos with the coaches and who should drive them that we had had this evening.

"A horse you shall get then," M.Tavoire decided. "If you go to the stable, you'll find one of the servants there. Tell him to give you one of our fastest horses; he'll know which ones you can choose from." He stretched out his hand, and I shook it.

"Goodbye, Monsieur," I said. "And thank you."

"I never thought I'd once give one of our horses to a legend…" he remarked fter he had said goodbye as well. He seemed to be just as cheerful as at the beginning of our conversation.

Meg and I bid each other farewell, too, and I walked over to the stable. As interesting as the meeting with Jean Tavoire had been, it had cost me a lot of time. I could practically hear Christine call for me. ´I'm on my way, love,´ I thought.


	121. Chapter One Hundred and TwentyOne

**Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-One**

**September 17th 1892: **_Erik_

The journey back to the de Chagnys seemed to be much shorter than the one that had brought me to the Tavoires. This was mainly because the horse was faster than the one that had pulled the coach. I had left the choice to the stable boy, and he had made a good one. The black gelding was a strong horse with a lot of energy and a fearless character. He didn't care about the sounds of the streets at night, but made his way through them without glacing right or left.

It had been a while since the last time I had travelled on horseback, and I enjoyed it very much. It was a completely different feeling from driving a coach, which was bigger and less flexible in its movements. If I had been able to do so, I'd have taken the horse out of Paris and let it canter over paths in the forest. But of course I didn't have that much time. I could count myself lucky that most streets were soft enough to allow the horse to trot.

I avoided the street where the accident had taken place, for I didn't want to be reminded of it. So many things had happened in the last few hours. Sometimes there were weeks in which less happened to me. Come to think of it, the whole day had been anything but normal, even for my standards. First there had been then intestines at our door and the conversation with the butcher and his wife, followed by meeting Meg, getting married to Christine and going to the opera. The afternoon had been even more peculiar. Signora Marchesi had decided to be friendly to Philippe, Orpheus had decided to sing again, and Christine and I had decided to have what she had called ´our wedding evening´. Then I had taken Meg home, the accident had happened, and she and I had become friends. Maybe I even was in the process of becoming friends with her husband as well.

It was no wonder that by the time I arrived at the de Chagnys' entrance door, I was so exhausted that I could barely keep my eyelids from drooping. I had found a place for the horse in the stable. Yet unlike me, it had been wide awake, neighing impatiently and demanding to be fed. Naturally, the other horses had wanted something as well, so that I wasn't only tired now, but my trousers and cloak were covered in bits of hay. If I was lucky, I'd be able to clean myself before seeing Christine.

Knocking at the door, I tried to brush off at least the biggest pieces of hay from my cloak. My hope not to meet Christine yet was shattered when she opened the door. Yet she didn't seem to care about what I looked like. She flung her arms around me and pulled me into a tight embrace. Perhaps I should have scolded her for opening the door just like that, but I couldn't bring myself to doing it. Besides, I was to blame as well. I had been so exhausted that I had forgotten to use the back door.

"Oh Erik," she whispered when she released me again after a few moments. "I was so worried about you."

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I came back as fast as I could, but Meg's husband was so talkative, and I couldn't just – "

"Oh, never mind that," she muttered. "I was worried because of the accident."

I frowned.

"How can you know about that?" I asked her. It was true that news travelled fast in the streets of Paris, but usually it didn't work quite as well at night, when most people were at home.

"It was pure coincidence that we heard of it at all," she replied. "You see, Gabriel's brother happened to come home from work when the accident took place, right in front of him. Of course he tried to help, and afterwards he came here to tell his brother about it. He had recognised the coach as ours and wanted to let us know. Yet he had no idea who had been involved in the accident. He said he only saw a man on the ground, then he cared for the horse. I was so afraid that man could have been you…"

Slowly, everything started to make sense. I thought of the man who had helped the horse, who had barely looked up at me. Of course he hadn't seen that I hadn't been involved in the accident.

"It was Meg's coachman," I informed her. "But he wasn't hurt badly. She could take him home right after a doctor we had called had examined him. He'll be fine."

"Thank goodness," she exclaimed with a sigh. "And what kind of accident was it? Did he lose control over the coach and collide with something? Or did he run over a stray animal? Or was it… Oh Erik, please tell me it was not another attack!" She looked at me anxiously. The fear in her eyes showed me that she already suspected something.

I hated the thought of having to make her even more scared than she already was, but I couldn't lie to her either. She deserved the truth.

"Yes, I'm fairly sure it was a new attack," I replied. She inhaled sharply, but I forced myself to go on. "Two wheels of the coach fell off at the same time, without apparent reason. It can't have been a coincidence. I suspect that someone sneaked into the stable while nobody else was there and loosened the wheels, so that they'd fall off after a certain time of driving. It all worked very well."

"Except for the fact that we were not in the coach at all," Christine added. "Surely Meg's coachman wasn't the target, was he? He just had the bad luck to drive our coach."

"Precisely," I agreed. "It wasn't a very specific attack. The person planning it could neither know when the coach would be needed next nor who'd be in it. It was a high risk for dubious success."

"And what does that tell you?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "It's possible that they're getting nervous or impatient about not having had a lot of success yet. Or else this attack wasn't very important, so they didn't plan it carefully." I stopped, realising that speculations would get us nowhere. What we needed were facts. Unfortunately those were rare.

"Christine, have you ever heard of Estella Piqué?" I wanted to know.

"Estella… Estella…" she murmured, her face screwed up in concentration. "Isn't she a chorus girl? I think Meg must have mentioned her a few times… Why?" She looked up at me with barely hidden curiosity. "Does she have something to do with the attacks?"

"I'll tell you in a moment," I promised. "What do you know about her?"

"Well, Meg doesn't like her," she replied. "And she doesn't like Meg. As far as I know, it has always been like that, right from the day when Estella came to the opera. Meg does the warm up for the dancers every now and then, when her mother isn't around, because she's the one who can do it best. But Estella doesn't listen to her. She tries to undermine her authority by saying she wasn't a good enough dancer. It really gets on Meg's nerves."

"I see," I muttered absently. Apparently Estella was one of the girls who wanted to make my new friend leave the opera. That was most interesting indeed. So even if she wasn't involved in the attacks, talking to her would be a good idea.

When I didn't go on, Christine asked:

"Could you please tell me what's going on? Since when are you interested in the chours girls again?".

In a few sentences I told her what Meg and I had discussed on the journey. I outlined both suspicions I had about Estella.

"That's why I've decided to meet her tomorrow morning," I finished. "If she really wants to try to seduce me, she's free to do so."

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Christine wanted to know with a frown.

"Well, yes," I answered. "I know, you're worried about who'll protect you while I'll be at the opera, but that won't be a problem. I'll walk there, so both Gabriel and Jacques will stay in the house. Besides, I won't be gone for long. One or two hours, then I'll be back. We won't have more time anyway, since Meg's husband invited us to lunch."

"That's very nice of him, but none of it is what I'm worried about," she corrected me. "Of course you can leave us alone for a while at day-time. But… Estella…"

"I'm certain she won't try to harm me in any way," I said casually. "I heard that she's a little stupid, but she cannot be _that_ stupid."

"No, but… she's pretty," Christine whispered. "Meg told me that she has a lot of charm and thinks she can have every man she wants."

"Then I'll be the first one she won't have," I declared flatly. Quickly I took her hands in mine. "Christine, I belong to you," I told her seriously. "My heart, my soul, my body – everything. I'd never dream of giving any of it to someone else."

The frown vanished from her face, and a somewhat playful smile appeared.

"That's good to know, Monsieur," she said. "But are you willing to prove it to me upstairs?"

"I'm right behind you, Madame," I gave back. For some reason I wasn't feeling tired anymore.


	122. Chapter One Hundred and TwentyTwo

**Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Two**

**September 17th 1892: **_Jacqueline_

Walking down the corridor I heard it for the first time. It was a series of low moans, combined with the groaning of a mattress, and it came from Madame's bedroom. I smiled knowingly. Just to be completely sure that my theory was correct, I checked M.Erik's room, finding it empty. I should have known so. Apparently the two of them had discovered quite a nice night-time activity.

Thinking about it I couldn't help blushing and hurried down the corridor and back into my room. My steps were accompanied by the moans of a second person. Actually there was no need to hurry, for no one else was still awake and could see me. Larisse had already gone home to her family, and Gabriel and Jacques were fast asleep in their rooms downstairs.

I was glad that nobody else was there to hear those sounds. None of us servants was likely to spread rumours, but it would have been bad enough if one of them had started questioning… what? Madame's character? Her qualities as a wife? Or M.Erik? In any case, I had to protect them. I didn't know why I felt the urge to do so, but I did.

Perhaps I had heard too many of those romantic fairy tales as a child. The princess and the brave knight were often separated and could only be together for a short time. Antoinette loved such stories as well. I couldn't recall how many times I had told them to her, inventing new characters and new dangers the knight had to overcome before he was allowed to be with his beloved. Vaguely I wondered what the girl would have said if she had known that her own mother was in a very similar situation.

But then, wasn't it just the other way round in Madame's case? After all, the Comte was the handsome man who had saved her from danger, although admittedly it had happened years ago. Actually the story should be over now. It should have ended with their wedding. Who had ever heard of a fairy tale in which the evil character turned into the good one after a while? And did this imply that the good character had to become evil?

Having done all that pondering while standing at the door of my room, staring into space, I realised that I wouldn't be able to sleep anytime soon. So instead of going back to bed, from which the urge to go to the bathroom had woken me up a few minutes ago, I sat down on a chair next to it, looking out of the window. Nothing interesting could be seen there either, but it was better than the darkness of my room. I didn't dare light a candle, for, just as usual, the door to Philippe's room was open. I didn't want to wake him up, just because I couldn't sleep.

When I was comfortable, I tried to recall what I had been thinking about. Oh yes, good and evil. I wasn't even sure whether calling M.Erik the evil character in that story was correct. But then, most I knew about him was what my sister had told me, so I found it hard to be neutral. The chorus girls loved gossip – the more horrible, the better. According to their tales, M.Erik, or rather, the Opera Ghost, was a monster, barely human and definitely evil. I had even heard one of them say that he was the devil himself or at least one of his minions. The girl had been silenced quickly by the other ones, who had all made the sign of the cross. That opinion had been too extreme even for their tastes.

Yet I couldn't regard M.Erik was evil. It was true that he had scared me more than once in the past, that he demanded absolute obedience and could become very unpleasant when not being given the answers he wanted. And still… he wasn't a bad person. The chorus girls had never seen him play with Philippe or talk to Antoinette about dancing. He had an amazing talent for children, and I just couldn't imagine a bad person being like that.

And then there was his relationship to Madame. I hadn't seen them together very often, but merely from the way he looked at her I could tell that he loved her. If he were a bad person, he wouldn't have waited ten years for her. He wouldn't have let her go at all. Yes, he had seized his chance now, but who wouldn't have done that? It was more a sign of being intelligent than evil. And apparently Madame didn't mind either.

Actually there was nothing bad about it then. Maybe it was wrong on a moral level, but who was I to judge others? I myself had done quite a few wrong things in my life, things I was glad no one knew about. So I wasn't allowed to pass judgement on others. Still it was good that Larisse didn't know about it. She was a nice person, but very traditional in her opinions. She wouldn't have understood.

Yet of course there was another person who wouldn't understand it: the Comte. His wife, lying in bed with someone else, someone who was his sworn enemy… it didn't take a lot to work out how he'd react to such news. He'd curse the day when he had agreed to let M.Erik stay in the house. I was astonished that he had allowed it at all, but I guessed there were things between the three of them I didn't know about.

But then, maybe the Comte would never find out. Madame and M.Erik would surely be wise enough not to continue their relationship with the Comte around, or at least to hide it better than they did now. They had to feel completely safe at the moment, convinced that no one would hear them and feel obliged to –

My breath caught in my throat as I suddenly remembered the promise I had given the Comte. He had asked me to tell him if something happened here. Well, his wife sleeping with M.Erik definitely qualified as ´something happening´. This meant I had to send him a letter right now. The face of my master was in front of my mind's eye as I fetched my writing utensils quickly. Yet sitting down at the table I paused, the pencil already in my hand.

Suddenly there was another face on my mind. It was the face of my other master, M.Erik. If he ever found out I had betrayed him in such a way… A shiver ran down my spine. True, I didn't believe him to be a bad person, but I had seen supposedly good people do terrible things when they were furious. I didn't exactly fear for my life, for I didn't think he'd kill me. Yet he could easily make Madame dismiss me. Once she heard about my betrayal, too, there wouldn't be a lot of persuasion necessary. Moreover, he'd surely stop paying for my sister's education, and I couldn't do that to her. She loved being a dancer.

On the other hand… M.Erik needn't know who'd have sent the message to the Comte. Perhaps he wouldn't suspect me at all. Perhaps he'd suspect… Jacques. Yes, that was a good solution. The butler could have stood up at night because he thought he had heard something upstairs, then he'd have accidentally noticed what was going on in the bedroom and would have been bound to write a letter to his master. Maybe I could actually arrange that by telling Jacques what I had overheard. Then everything would be perfect.

Everything, except for the fact that I'd feel like a monster. As much as I tried to tell myself the contrary, I had to realise that being dismissed and losing the support for my sister weren't my biggest worries. Even if M.Erik would never find out who had told the Comte about it, I'd feel terrible all the same. The point was that I liked Madame and M.Erik. In a strange way that I couldn't have explained to anyone, they looked like a nice couple.

I even wondered what would have happened if _they_ were the ones who had married. Then everything would be all right, wouldn't it? No one would say anything against them sleeping with each other. It would be considered perfectly normal. I sighed. The problem was that they weren't married and would never be married, because Madame already had another husband.

Still I couldn't help pitying them. I thought of the handsome sailor who had been my first love. He had never as much as deigned to notice that I existed. But if he had done so, and if we had been given the chance to spend just a few days together, I'd have seized it. I couldn't punish Madame and M.Erik because they were doing the same.

But what if the Comte found out from someone else and suspected I had known it before? The question made all romantic thoughts vanish from my mind. He'd surely dismiss me and make certain I'd never find another job in Paris again. Then I wouldn't be worth anything for M.Erik either. I could hardly expect him to support both my sister and me, could I? I wouldn't even be able to give him anything in return.

I sighed again. If I had known which problems I'd once have here, I'd have never started working in this household. Yet since I couldn't turn back time, I just had to do the best I could for myself. Finally having made a decision, I started writing.


	123. Chapter One Hundred and TwentyThree

**Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Three**

**September 18th 1892: **_Christine_

When I woke up, I felt calm, peaceful and more relaxed than I had felt in a very long time. The reason for it was lying next to me on his back, snoring softly. Snuggling against his side I revelled in the memories of last night, which had doubtlessly been one of the best nights in my life. Even performances with lots of applause paled in comparison to it.

It had also been nicer than our first time together, though I'd have never told him that. We had had more space and also more time. There had been loving explorations of each other's body, delighted gasps and moans about particularly good touches, and endless hours of kisses and caresses. Erik had been very cautious at first, trying to find out what I liked with the same precision he showed while composing. Yet when he had noticed that I had enjoyed what he had been doing, he had grown more confident… but not less gentle.

I gave a dreamy little sigh. I wasn't surprised that he had displayed quite a lot of talent in this activity. He was very sensitive, and that was all it took at the beginning. The rest could be learned quickly, a fact that Erik had demonstrated last night. I had been very content with him. I had already told him so, but was more than willing to do it again, just in case he'd have forgotten it by the time he woke up.

Straightening up a little I glanced down at him, seizing the chance to have a good look at him. If he had been awake, he'd have turned away at once, yet since he was asleep, I could let my gaze roam over his face… his entire face. I had taken off the mask sometime during our lovemaking, and he had been too busy with other things to protest against it.

Now the mask was lying on the bedside table. I had carefully put a handkerchief under it after we had been finished, for I had been worried it might fall to the floor. Erik hadn't noticed any of it; he had already been fast asleep. I certainly didn't plan to disturb him now either. The longer he slept, the longer I could look at him.

His lips were curled into a relaxed smile, which was another certain sign that he was asleep. As far as I could recall, the smile had already been there when I had woken up. So he either had pleasant dreams or he had fallen asleep smiling. I liked both possibilities. His lips were full and – as I knew from personal experience – very soft. All in all, the left side of his face looked just like I remembered it from ten years ago. Sure, age had drawn a few lines on his forehead, around his eyes and mouth, but it wasn't as much as I knew it from other people who were about his age. He didn't look old, and maybe he never would.

The right side of his face didn't frighten me as much as it once had. Perhaps I was growing used to seeing the marred, red flesh. Or perhaps… perhaps the thing Erik had always hoped for was finally happening: I was more tolerant because I loved him. I couldn't tell which one was true. I only knew that he'd have preferred the latter.

But would this also work for the children? My own words suddenly flashed up in my head, like a bolt of lightning. I had promised Antoinette and Philippe that Erik would let them in on the secret of his mask today. The biggest problem about it was that he didn't know it yet. I had planned to tell him when he had come home, but other things had been more important.

I could only hope he wouldn't be angry at me because I had made such a promise without asking him first. I was fairly certain he'd understand why I had done it, but maybe he'd have rather had more time for preparation. My daughter would doubtlessly attack him with questions as soon as she saw him. If I was lucky, I'd manage to make Erik stay in the room until after breakfast, when Antoinette would leave for her teacher's house. Like this, he'd have time till the evening. Philippe wouldn't start asking questions without his sister's support.

By the time I had drawn that conclusion, I felt much better. My momentary sombre mood had vanished. I let my finger glide over his face playfully, tracing his features. One thing was certain: If it hadn't been for the right side of his face, women would have swooned with delight instead of fainting with shock at the sight of him. Maybe I was the only person to accept him the way he was.

I didn't have time to consider that thought and what it meant, for in the next moment I felt Erik's body grown tense and sensed he was awake. Before I knew what was happening, I was lying on my back with him on top of me. His hands were holding my wrists at my sides, while his weight pressed me into the mattress.

"Good morning, Erik," I whispered pleasantly, far from frightened. "Did you sleep well?"

It was only then that he opened his eyes.

_Erik_

My reflexes were still excellent. After all, one could never know whether one would be attacked while sleeping. Yet this time something had gone seriously wrong. Instead of an attacker I was glancing down at none other than my beloved Christine. And as far as I could recall, the last time I had been in a similar situation, I had been less… well, naked.

As I realised what had happened, I grinned sheepishly.

"Good morning, Christine," I muttered. "I'm sorry. It's just… I'm not used to sleeping next to someone, and when you touched me…"

"It's all right," she assured me. "I'm glad you opened your eyes before you pulled out the Punjab Lasso."

"I don't have it with me at the moment," I stated the obvious. "It's somewhere over there." I jerked my head into the direction of the pile of clothing on the floor.

"I guess I was lucky then," she remarked with a smile. "The next time you want to try something new, you could just ask me…"

It took me a moment to understand she had been joking.

"I'm sorry," I repeated. I let go of her hands at last, but when I wanted to roll off of her, she held me back.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, wrapping her arms around me.

"I'm too heavy for you," I explained.

"No, you're not," she contradicted me. "Besides, I like having you on top of me. It's a good feeling." I'd have never been able to say such things without stmmering like a fool, but she managed to do so with just a little blushing.

"It is," I agreed. Unfortunately my body seemed to agree as well. I hadn't noticed before how nicely our bodies were pressing against each other, but now I did. Instantly blood began to rush into my lower regions.

"Erm… Christine…" I mumbled. "Perhaps I should rather lie next to you…" In addition to the excitement, I felt strangely guilty. She just wanted to be close to me, and my thoughts immediately went into a far less innocent direction. My behaviour truly was a shame.

"Why should you do that?" she wanted to know, making my situation even worse by moving slightly, thus rubbing herself against me.

"I have a little… problem," I replied uneasily, even though by now the problem was far from little.

"There's something we can do about that," she told me with a wink. "With all the things we've done last night, I thought you knew the method…"

I gulped.

"But Christine… it's day," I reminded her.

"So?" she asked. "Is there a rule against doing such things at day-time? Besides, if it bothers you that much, just close your eyes and imagine it were night. It's hardly day anyway. The sun had barely risen when I woke up. There's still plenty of time till someone could come looking for us. Please…"

Who was I to deny a woman a wish?

By the time it was over and we were lying on the bed in a mass of tangled limbs, the room was filled with sunlight. For once, I didn't mind the light. It was just as bright as my mood. Could there be a better way of starting the day than this one? Admittedly it was a little exhausting, which contradicted the idea of getting up in the morning and feeling refleshed, but that was a small price for the overwhelming happiness.

Casually I ran my hand over my forehead to wipe off a few beads of sweat… only to stop in mid-motion. Something was wrong. Why had I been able to touch my entire forehead? Where was… where was my mask?

"Christine… did you take off my mask?" I whispered urgently.

"Yes, I did," she replied. "Didn't you notice it?"

"No," I admitted slowly. "I didn't even notice it before now."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" she asked softly. "It means that you feel so comfortable around me that you don't need it. I certainly don't want you to wear it now. It's much nicer the way it is."

"Oh…" I made. Christine merely smiled and pressed a kiss to my temple.

I wanted to say more, but in this moment there was a knock at the door. At once I was alert. Frantically I tried to remember whether we had locked the door last night. None of the servants would open the door just like that, but I couldn't be sure about the children.

"Where did you put the mask?" I wanted to know, sitting up hastily.

"It's on the bedside table," she answered with a little yawn. "There's no reason for you to be worried."

Yet that statement turned out to be incorrect. Apart from a small lamp, the table was empty. There was nothing lying on the floor either. The mask was nowhere to be seen.


	124. Chapter One Hundred and TwentyFour

**Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Four**

**September 18th 1892: **_Christine_

I had rarely seen Erik in such a pitiable state. He was down on his knees, searching under the bed. Usually he was the composed one, no matter how much chaos there was around him. Now the only chaos was inside his head. For a moment, I was infected by the panic which was surrounding him almost palpably. I sat up as well and had just swung my legs out of the bed to help him look for his mask, when I remember something that made me stop.

"Erik, when I said it was on the bedside table, I didn't mean yours, but mine," I told him hastily. "How could I have put it on yours? It's too far away for me to reach."

His head emerged from under the bed, where he had been loking for his most precious possession, and it was quickly followed by the rest of him.

"So you have it? Give it to me!" he demanded, jumping to his feet and hurrying over to me. He was so fast that by the time I had picked up the mask from the table, he snatched it out of my hand. A sound somewhere between a triumphant cry and a sigh of relief escaped his throat. He cleaned both his face and the inside of the mask with the handkerchief I gave him. He then put the mask on its usual place and fastened the ribbons at the back of his head. I was almost sorry that he had to wear it again. A little of the intimacy between us was gone.

The person standing outside knocked again. Perhaps they had done so a few times already, but I hadn't paid attention before. It was only then that I realised I couldn't open the door, whether or not Erik had his mask. The mere fact that he was here, in my bedroom, was something no one was supposed to know about. It would have been all right if he had left directly after we had woken up, but now that wasn't possible anymore. The only way back to the guestroom led through the corridor.

"Don't come in!" I called. "I… I'm not decent."

"I don't want to come in, Madame," the person gave back. I recognised the voice as belonging to Jacqueline. "I just wanted to tell you that the breakfast is standing on the table. Everyone except you is already downstairs… except you and M.Erik, that is. I knocked at his door, but there was no answer."

"Oh, his sleep is very deep," I said quickly. "He surely hasn't heard you. I'll go and wake him up. But you don't have to wait with the breakfast. We'll join you in a few minutes. Thank you for telling me."

"You're welcome," she replied. By the sound of it, she was walking away.

Erik and I grinned at each other.

"I really don't like lying to other people," I muttered, just to make sure he knew it. "But in this situation it was necessary. I'm glad she didn't open the door to your room and see that it's empty."

"She wouldn't have done that," he gave back casually. "It's a simple matter of respect. She didn't open your door either."

"Yes, but… I wonder whether she knows something," I mused aloud, my fingers gliding over the blanket slowly as I thought. "The way she stressed that everyone is downstairs, as if to indicate we'd be able to leave the room without being seen… Don't you think it was a little strange?"

He shrugged.

"Maybe she heard us talking while we were searching for the mask," he muttered. "I'm afraid I was too upset to pay attention to how loud we were. But even if she suspects something, she'd never use it to harm us in any way. She's much too loyal."

I nodded. Loyalty was something Erik knew a lot about, and I couldn't help trusting him. Besides, I liked Jacqueline. I didn't want to destroy the good relationship we had by growing suspicious towards her.

"Do you feel like going down to breakfast then?" he asked. "I'm very hungry."

"Yes, we have to go now, whether we like it or not," I replied. "If we don't, the children will come to fetch us, and they won't be as understanding as Jacqueline… But don't you think you're forgetting something?" I coughed politely.

Instinctively his hand flew to his mask, making sure it was still there.

"No," he then answered. "I'm ready."

"Well, if it were just the two of us, I wouldn't mind eating breakfast with you like this," I told him with a smile. "It would be a completely new experience. But we've got to think of the others. Larisse would faint if she saw a naked man walk into the dining room, and I'm not very keen on showing my private parts to Gabriel and Jacques either… although I doubt they'd mind." I giggled.

"Oh…" Erik made, looking down at himself. It seemed that only now he realised he wasn't wearing anything. He threw me a brief glance, but I was at least wrapped in the blanket.

"You see… the mask is my most important piece of clothing," he explained, snatching his trousers from the floor and covering his private parts with them. "So I just… forgot…"

"Yes, I see that indeed," I couldn't help remarking, unable to stop giggling. The image of him going down to breakfast wearing nothing but his mask was still vivid in my head.

"Do I look that amusing?" he wanted to know, sounding a little hurt.

I shook my head.

"Amazing would be the right word for your appearance, not amusing," I corrected him. It wasn't an exaggeration. He did look very good, even with a part of him hidden behind a layer of fabric. I let my gaze roam over his body freely. Yet after a few moments it occurred to me that I was doing so a little too intently, for he asked:

"Are you enjoying yourself by looking at me?".

"Oh yes," I replied honestly. "But I should better stop now, before I'm tempted to drag you back into bed." I had looked at him enough for the picture to be engraved in my mind for all times.

Kneeling down next to the pile of clothing, Erik started to make two smaller piles, consisting of his clothes and mine. Once he was finished, it only took him a minute to get dressed, which was much faster than I'd ever manage. But then, he didn't have a corset to lace.

"Since I've come to understand that walking around wearing nothing is not allowed in this house, I've simply put on my old clothes," he explained. "But I do have to replace them with new ones and also freshen myself up a little. I'll be back in a few minutes. Or don't we have that much time?"

"Take as much time as you need," I replied casually. "I'm not even dressed myself yet. We'll surely still get something to eat in a quarter of an hour."

"All right," he agreed leaving the room. "I'll knock at your door when I'm ready to go."

The moment he had closed the door behind him I jumped out of the bed. Contrary to what I had just told him, I had no time to lose. I wanted to make sure that Antoinette would have left the house before Erik came downstairs. Since she usually was the first to finish the meal, I should be able to meet her in the corridor. If only they hadn't decided to wait for us after all!

I rushed over to the washbasin, shivering as the cold water came into contact with my skin. I'd have preferred warm water, but there wasn't enough time for such extravagances now. When I was finished, I ran to the wardrobe, pulled out various articles of clothing and started getting dressed. I chose a simple light pink dress. I wasn't sure whether Erik would like it, but I did. Besides, it had been the first one I had spotted in the wardrobe. Briefly I ran a comb through my hair, applied a little make-up and decided that I was ready to go.

I was aware that I had lost a lot of time while getting dressed, but I was determined to make up for it by walking very quickly. The door to Erik's room was still closed as I tiptoed past it. Hurrying downstairs I heard voices.

"… or we'll be late!"

"But Antoinette, we can't leave without having seen your mother and M.Erik. Don't you want to wish them a good morning?"

"My teacher always gets angry when I'm late, and – "

"I'm here," I interrupted the discussion between my daughter and the maid. I made a fruitless attempt to appear more dignified by walking down the last few steps more slowly, but Jacqueline looked at me with her eyebrows raised anyway.

"I'm sorry, Madame. I didn't mean to make you hurry up that much," she muttered. "We could as well have come upstairs to say goodbye."

"No!" I exclaimed, earning surprised glances. "I mean, no, no, that wouldn't have been necessary. I was just getting up anyway. Thank you for caring for the children alone," I addressed Jacqueline, who made a dismissive gesture with her hand, as if to say that it had been nothing. "I don't know why I overslept… Did anything extraordinary happen?"

"Not that I knew of, Madame," the maid answered. "Philippe was a little worried because neither you nor M.Erik showed up for breakfast, but he'll calm down once he sees you."

"Erik overslept as well because… I was supposed to wake him up, but forgot it," I explained hastily.

"I see," Jacqueline said with a smile. "Well, it doesn't matter. Of course you can sleep as long as you want. But we really have to go now. Since there no longer is a coach in which we could ride, we've got to walk to Antoinette's teacher."

"I'm sure we'll be able to borrow a coach for a few days, till we'll get the other one back," I assured her. "We'll pick you up in the afternoon. When will you be finished – at five?"

They nodded.

"Maman, what happened with the coach?" Antoinette asked curiously. "Jacqueline didn't want to tell me, and Larisse only said something about an accident. And where is Uncle Erik? I wanted to talk to him about – "

"He hasn't stood up yet," I started, but in this moment I felt two hands on my shoulders and knew I had lost.

"What do you want to talk to me about, my little one?" Erik asked gently.


	125. Chapter One Hundred and TwentyFive

**Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five**

**September 18th 1892: **_Christine_

Jacqueline and I were surprised by Erik's sudden appearance – too surprised to speak. Yet Antoinette didn't know such problems. She saw her chance and seized it.

"I'd like to talk to you about your mask," she replied. "Why do you wear it? And what's under it? Is it something terrible? Can I have a look?"

I jumped slightly as his fingers dug into my shoulders. Yet that small physical pain was nothing compared to the searing pain that shot through my heart as I turned around and saw his face. It had gone almost as white as the mask, and his eyes were bulging slightly. The effect wasn't lost on my daughter. She looked up at him with anxiety in her eyes, which was something that happened very rarely to my brave little girl.

For a few moments, no one moved or spoke. The tension was as thick as fog in the corridor. My mind was racing. Why hadn't I been here sooner? Why hadn't I made Antoinette go before Erik had come downstairs? Why had I been too slow? Yet all those questions were pointless, now that it had already happened. My daughter and Erik had met, and she had uttered what was on her mind, just like she always did. This time, however, it could cause a catastrophe.

In the end it was Jacqueline who broke the silence.

"That's enough, Antoinette," she told her sharply. "It's not polite to pester M.Erik with questions that private, especially not the first time you see him in the morning, when he's still sleepy. You haven't even said ´Good morning´ yet."

I threw the maid a grateful glance. I could only hope that the girl wouldn't notice that Erik didn't look sleepy at all, and that he obviously thought of anything but the questions whether someone had said ´Good morning´ to him.

"I'm sorry," Antoinette muttered meekly, her eyes still glued to Erik's face. "I just wanted to ask you those questions. Philippe wants to know it, too. But if you're too sleepy…"

"Yes, I am," Erik said, in a strangely hollow voice. "I am very, very sleepy. But I will tell you what you want to know, just not now. We'll talk about it in the evening, when you come back from your teacher. We'll sit down in the living room, all of us, and then… we'll talk. Yes."

"Thank you," my daughter said. She looked as if she wanted to go on, but Jacqueline simply took her hand and opened the door.

"We'll see each other in the evening then," she called as they walked down the steps. "Goodbye, Madame. Goodbye, M.Erik."

"Goodbye," Antoinette cried very loudly, probably to show that this time she hadn't forgotten it.

"Goodbye," we chorused.

When the door was closed behind them, I started talking immediately.

"I'm so sorry, Erik. I should have warned you. The topic was brought up yesterday, after Meg's coachman had insulted you. When you went outside with him, the children asked me why he had done so and what was wrong with your face, but I refused to tell them without you knowing about it. Instead I… I promised you'd tell them yourself today. Of course I didn't consider that Antoinette would seize the first chance… But that doesn't matter now. It's all my fault… Can you forgive me?" I threw him a pleading glance.

"Nothing's your fault," he assured me, letting go of my shoulders abruptly. "The subject would have come up sooner or later. Now that it's there, I… I'll just have to deal with it. But I need a little time to think about it… alone. Will you excuse me?" He didn't wait for my reply, but simply turned around and walked up the stairs. After a few steps he started running.

I stood there in stunned silence. Only the door snapping shut upstairs pulled me out of my reverie. He was gone. And I? I could as well go to breakfast. Erik had made it clear that he didn't want me at the moment, and I could understand him. What should he want to do with the woman who was the cause of all his trouble? Admittedly he had said that he didn't blame me, but I didn't believe that. I could count myself lucky if he'd still talk to me by the time he'd come down again.

I walked down the corridor slowly. I didn't feel like eating anymore. But then, Jaqueline had told us that Philippe had been worried because of our absence at the table. So I'd be able to make at least him happy by showing up there. Of course I'd have to make up an excuse why Erik wasn't there as well, but that shouldn't be a problem. Lately, I had become very good at lying again.

_Erik_

I managed to make it to my room without bursting into tears and was rather proud of my self-restraint. Yet the moment the door was closed, my self-restraint crumbled, and the first tears began to run down my cheeks. I hadn't wanted Christine or anyone else to see me like this, but now that I was alone, it didn't matter.

Ten minutes before, I had still been happy. I had dressed carefully, knowing that Christine would soon look at me again with love in her eyes. I had never felt this good about my body before. Actually I had never given it much thought before. Yet now that the woman I loved had said that she liked the way I looked… It had made me feel wonderfully self-confident. Perhaps, I had told myself, things would be all right after all. Perhaps I'd be able to be a normal man, just like she was a normal woman.

A little girl had changed everything. Without being aware of it, she had reminded me of the one fact that, probably for the first time in my life, had not been on my mind anyway: I was not like everyone else. My mask was a mystery, something that had to be explained, that caused curiosity and anxiety. It was something that wasn't normal.

I didn't blame Antoinette. How could I have done so without being a hypocrite? After all, it was I who constantly proclaimed that curiosity was a good and useful character trait. Besides, the things I had told Christine had been true: I had known that one day the children would ask questions about the mask and demand answers from me. Yet knowing something in theory and actually seeing it happen were two very different things.

I had thought about possible explanations a long time ago. I had even written down a few facts on a sheet of paper that was lying somewhere in my study now. Yet none of those things would help me. Thinking about them now, I realised they were far too abstract for children to understand. I had written them down when Philippe had still been an infant, when I hadn't even seen him once. Yet the day I had first met him, I had known things would be different from the way I had imagined them.

_´I cannot stay long,´ were Jacqueline's first words when she came into the garden. ´Madame has fallen asleep, but the moment she wakes up, she'll want to know where Philippe is, and if she finds out that I've taken him outside without her permission…´ She didn't finish her sentence, but simply made a face. I understood what she wanted to say._

_Cautiously I peered down at the bundle she held in her arms. Wrapped in a white blanket was a baby, exactly one month and fourteen days old. Only his head and arms were visible. He had soft wisps of blond hair and a tiny nose. I had studied human anatomy and physiology for years, and still I couldn't believe that anything that small could actually be a human being._

_´Here, you can take him for a moment,´ the girl said. She was probably growing tired of watching me admire the boy. ´That's what you wanted to have him outside for, isn't it?´_

_The thought of holding him in my arms made my heart beat wildly, but I tried to appear calm. I didn't want the maid to see me nervous. It would have undermined my authority. So I merely nodded._

_´You've got to hold him like this… yes… make sure you support the head,´ she instructed me while bringing the baby into the right position. He had been asleep before, but the sudden motions had woken him up. To my enormous relief he didn't cry. He opened his big blue eyes and gazed up at me in wonder._

_´Good day, Philippe Charles,´ I whispered. ´My name is Erik. I'll be your teacher. When you're old enough, you'll inherit my whole world and rule over it like a king. Do you like that?´_

_´Maybe it's a little too complicated for a baby,´ Jacqueline suggested cautiously. _

_´That could be true,´ I muttered. ´Let's just say I'm… Uncle Erik then. I'll tell you many things and help you when you have problems. I'll always be there for you. Better?´_

_I stretched out a finger to touch his little nose, but he seemed to have other plans. His tiny hand closed around my finger and held it in a surprisingly firm grip. _

_´I guess this means ´yes´,´ I commented. I was glad that Jacqueline didn't notice the tears in my eyes. How could I have explained that a baby had just stolen the mighty Opera Ghost's heart?_

Wiping my eyes I sank down on the bed. Things had been so promising back then. Philippe hadn't cared about the mask. About a year ago I had told him that I needed it, just like other people needed glasses or a walking cane, and he had accepted it… until now. I was feeling utterly helpless. How could I explain what my face looked like without scaring him? Would he still love me once he knew how repulsive I truly was? I didn't know the answer, and that lack of knowledge made me frightened.


	126. Chapter Onr Hundred and TwentySix

**Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Six**

**September 18th 1892: **_Christine_

Philippe and I had just finished eating – or in my case, nibbling on a piece of bread to pretend I was eating – when Erik entered the room, a spring in his step. His mood couldn't have been more different from the last time I had seen him. There was no trace of sadness or anxiety left on his face. Instead, his lips were curled into a broad smile.

"Good morning, everyone," he greeted us cheerfully, sitting down on the abandoned chair next to Philippe. "How is my boy today?"

"I'm fine, Uncle Erik," my son replied. "But what about you? Are you feeling better? Maman told me that you couldn't come to breakfast because you were feeling sick."

I gave Erik a small nod, encouraging him to go along with the story I had made up.

"It's much better now," he assured the boy. "I don't feel like eating, but I do think I should drink something. What did you have for breakfast?"

Philippe answered his question, and I used the time to fill a clean cup with coffee and handed it to Erik, who accepted it without looking away from the boy. I didn't join the conversation about food, but was content with watching the two of them, especially Erik. I was very glad that he was happy again. He didn't even seem to be angry at me.

I also congratulated myself on knowing my son that well. I had been right: Without his sister he didn't address the topic of the mask once. I could see him throw little glances at it every now and then, but Erik obviously didn't notice them. At least he didn't react to them in any way.

I only started listening properly again when the subject of the conversation became the rest of the day.

"What will we do today, Uncle Erik?" Philippe asked. "Will we go to the opera again?"

"I will go to the opera, yes, but you won't," Erik replied. Seeing the disappointed expression on the boy's face he added: "I have to do a few very boring things there. You wouldn't like them anyway. So it's better for you to stay here. I'll give you something to do, and your mother can keep you company.".

"And when will you come back?" the boy wanted to know.

"I'll be back by noon," Erik promised. "You see, your mother's friend Meg and her husband have invited us for lunch at their house."

"Oh, that's nice," Philippe cried, clapping his hands. "I like Uncle Jean. He's always so funny."

I couldn't help smiling. It had always been like that: Antoinette loved Meg, whereas Philippe preferred Jean. He often made him laugh with his absurd stories. It was a pity that my daughter wouldn't be able to accompany us, but that couldn't be changed. Her teacher was an excellent one, who had other pupils as well. I couldn't expect her to agree to Antoinette missing several lessons at such a short notice.

"Yes, he is," Erik remarked, smiling. It looked as if he were thinking of a fond memory, and I wondered how Jean had reacted to meeting him. Knowing Meg's husband for years, I assumed he had been delighted. I thought about asking Erik, but decided against it. The last thing I wanted was for Philippe to be reminded of the sad fact that not all people liked his teacher.

Erik drank the last sip of coffee, stood up and said:

"Let's go then. The things I have to do at the opera are boring, but important. I have to leave as soon as possible. But first I'll show you what I want you to do.".

He led us out of the dining room, down the corridor and into the music room.

"Practice playing the C major scale for a few minutes, then you can start with… this piece," he instructed the boy, handing him a sheet of paper that he had pulled out of the pocket of his jacket.

Only now did it occur to me that not only Erik's mood, but also his appearance had changed. Apart from his white shirt and black trousers, he was also wearing a black jacket now. His shoes were shining, and his hair was combed neatly. He looked so handsome as he stood at the piano, showing the boy onto which keys to put his fingers, that I felt a rush of desire. I could hardly keep myself from walking over to him and giving him a kiss.

Yet after one or two minutes, it was he who came over to me.

"When he's finished, tell him to read the next story in his book," he said. "And help him with words he doesn't know."

"Of course," I assured him. "And you're going to the opera?"

He nodded.

"I'll find out how much a certain chorus is willing to do in order to influence the Opera Ghost's opinion." He smiled, making a cold shiver run down my spine. He wouldn't really let her… or would he?

_Erik_

I rejected Christine's offer to ask the neighbours whether they could lend us a coach to bring me to the opera. I still thought it better not to draw too much attention to the fact that I was there. Besides, I preferred walking anyway. There were many things I had to think about, and it was better to do so alone.

I was a good actor. Even in my childhood I had already possessed the ability to disguise my emotions and show other ones instead. It had come in very useful today. Neither Christine nor Philippe had noticed how nervous I had been. If they had seen me standing in front of the door to the dining room before coming in, with sweaty palms and a much too fast heartbeat, they wouldn't have fallen for my performance.

Yet since they had had no idea in what a state I had been, it had been easy to make them believe I had been perfectly cheerful. They hadn't heard my heart pumping in my chest while I had been talking to the boy, afraid that any moment he could bring up the dangerous topic, plunging me into misery again. They hadn't seen my hands shaking when Christine had handed me the cup. I had been so afraid that any moment she could start apologising again. All in all, that peaceful and relaxed conversation had been one of the most stressful situations in the last weeks.

On the one hand, I was relieved that they hadn't noticed anything, for it had spared me a new discussion, new explanations. But on the other hand I had to admit that I was a little disappointed. Philippe was a child. Of course I hadn't expected him to realise I was only acting. But Christine… She knew me better than most other people in the world. Why hadn't she noticed that I had been much too cheerful?

I had even tried to provoke her into saying something. My pointed comment about Estella had only had that purpose. I had waited for Christine to tell me how much she loved me and that she was afraid something could happen between the chorus girl and me. But she had merely smiled and wished me good luck. She hadn't even told me to be careful.

That was the reason why I was feeling almost defiant now. Why shouldn't I be a little adventurous? Christine didn't seem to care about what I did anymore. By saying nothing, she had taken her position at the side of her son. This meant that if he chose never to see me again after finding out how despicable I was, I'd lose her as well.

The prospect made me feel as if my heart would break, but I fought back those feelings. It was likely that my marriage to Christine as well as my stay in the de Chagny house would end tonight, and there was nothing I could do about it. However, I could at least enjoy the time before it would happen. And if it solved the mystery who was attacking the family, that would be very good as well.

When I reached the opera, I realised that the situation this morning was ideal for my purposes. Because of the performance in the evening, there'd be no rehearsal. The chorus girls would all have the chance to use the stage and practice the steps they still had problems with. If it was necessary, they could ask Mme.Giry for help. Traditionally the new chorus girls arrived first because they were the most nervous ones and used every spare minute to practice. The older girls, who were more self-assured, came later. So I still had to chance to reach Estella's dressing room before she'd be in it.

The room was indeed empty when I entered it. Neither Estella nor the two other girls she shared it with were there yet. I pulled the note I had written out of my pocket and placed it on the dressing table. I hadn't given away much in the short letter, merely that the Opera Ghost had heard of her wish to meet him and was waiting for her in the empty dressing room at the end of the corridor.

Making my way to that room, I couldn't help hoping she wouldn't let me wait too long. I didn't have that much time. Besides, being alone would only make me start pondering about what would happen tonight again, and I didn't want that. I needed to free my mind from such thoughts, or I wouldn't be able to enjoy myself. And I would enjoy myself… this way or another.


	127. Chapter One Hundred and TwentySeven

**Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Seven**

**September 18th 1892: **_Erik_

After just a few minutes I heard laughter and voices in the corridor. They surely belonged to some of the chorus girls, but I didn't know their voices well enough to know whether Estella was among them. I couldn't open the door and have a look either, for I didn't want anyone to see me and think me impatient. The Opera Ghost had to act in a more dignified way. So I continued waiting.

Letting my gaze wander over the dressing table, the chair, the small wardrobe and the dusty sofa, I realised why nobody had claimed this room as their own for at least a year: It wasn't exactly the prettiest room there was at the opera. It was small, the carpet was old and dirty, and the pieces of furniture didn't match. I couldn't blame the chorus girls for preferring to share a dressing room with someone else rather than staying here.

Yet for my purposes that didn't matter. Actually it was quite good, for it would show me how determined Estella was. Besides, it added to the mystery of the Opera Ghost. Lurking in the shadows, having secret meetings in abandoned rooms – those were the things my reputation was based on. And I didn't want to disappoint her by not being the way she expected me to. That wouldn't have been very polite.

I waited for at least twenty more minutes before there was a knock at the door.

"Enter!" I called, retreating into the shadows a corner of the room provided. It wasn't necessary for her to see me right away. My voice alone would do the job very nicely for the time being. Moreover, it added an element of discomfort to the conversation if only one person could see the other.

The door remained closed for a few more moments, and I could practically hear the girl standing outside, taking deep breaths and trying to decide whether to go in there or just walk away and forget about it. Yet when she did come in, I saw that Christine had been right: She was indeed a pretty girl, with long light brown hair and huge green eyes.

Yet the most striking part of her appearance was the light green dress she was wearing, which clung to her curves in the most flattering manner and didn't leave much to the imagination. I wondered whether she had walking around like that outside, in streets full of people, and realised why it had taken her that long to get here: She had apparently read my note and decided to change into something more ´suitable´ for the occasion. I couldn't help noticing that it had been quite the success. She looked stunning.

"M. Opera Ghost?" she called, her voice shaking ever so slightly. "Are you here?"

"I am here," I replied shortly, making sure that my voice sounded as if it came from all corners of the room at the same time. I didn't want her to spot me. "The question is why you weren't here sooner. I don't like to be kept waiting."

"Oh, I'm very sorry, Monsieur," she muttered. "If I had come to the opera sooner, I'd have been here sooner as well, but I only arrived here half an hour ago. And when I saw your note, I had to change, for I didn't want you to see me in my old clothes. Do you like my dress?" she added, her voice growing stronger.

"I haven't come here to discuss your sense of fashion," I answered matter-of-factly. "My time is too precious for such nonsense."

"Oh… of course," she mumbled, bowing her head meekly. I was aware that I had dealt her self-confidence quite a blow, but that was good. Keeping her down was the best method to get what I wanted.

"Where are you?" Estella asked after a moment, looking up again. "I… I'd like to see you." Of course I knew the reason why she wanted to know where I was: It was hard to seduce a man one couldn't see. But I wouldn't make it that easy for her.

"That's strange," I remarked. "As far as I know, no one ever wants to see me…"

"I do!" she said instantly. One thing was certain: That girl seized every chance she had. "I really want to see you because… there is this thing I want to talk to you about."

"I know that you want to talk to me," I informed her. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"Yes, yes, you know everything that happens around here," she muttered, trying her best to sound awe-struck rather than annoyed, but failing. "Well, in that case you already know about my sister, Yvonne. She's a fantastic singer, really, but she simply isn't appreciated at the opera she works at. Even though she's the leading soprano, no one supports her enough – she doesn't even have a decent singing teacher. So she's looking for a new occupation."

"Such a ´fantastic singer´ shouldn't have problems in finding one," I commented. Estella smiled in a self-satisfied way, oblivious to the fact that I had my own reasons for saying the things I said. She may have thought that she was the one in control of the conversation, but she wasn't. This was what made listening to her that amusing.

"Exactly," she agreed. "She could work anywhere… but she doesn't want to. She wants to work at the most famous and most popular opera of all – this one." She underlined her statement with a nod.

"Indeed?" I asked, suppressing a chuckle at the same time as trying to sound genuinely surprised. "Well, this shows that her taste is good. But then, there's a tiny problem: We already _have_ a leading soprano."

"Yes, but…" She paused for a moment, her face screwed up in concentration as she tried to find the right words. "…you don't like Signora Marchesi anyway," she finally went on. "She was so unfriendly to you and to… that boy." It was this expression that did it. Even if I had been willing to listen to her before, it would have changed now. She didn't even remember Philippe's name.

"And what makes you think I'd like your sister any better?" I asked shortly.

Estella didn't reply for a few moments, and I was just wondering whether I had been too hostile when she did say something, in a surprisingly gentle voice.

"Everyone knows that you're still hoping Christine Daaé will return to the opera one day. But how likely is that after all those years? And even if she did return, it would take her months, maybe longer, to reach the standard of an opera singer again. All those months you'd still have to endure Singora Marchesi, and who knows what she'd do to that boy in the meantime? If you decide for my sister, however, she could start as soon as you want her to."

She was good, no doubt about it. That low voice could surely be very persuasive. Even I found myself wondering whether her sister wouldn't be a nice alternative to the diva, before I stopped myself, shaking my head.

"But what if Christine wanted to return to the opera after all?" I asked slowly, steering the conversation into the right direction. "Wouldn't you be afraid that I'd dismiss your sister again?"

I held my breath as I waited for her reply, waited for her to say that Christine surely wouldn't think about coming back, because she, Estella, had made sure she didn't want to leave the house. Yet instead she answered:

"Well, if that happened, Yvonne would easily find employment at another opera. Having worked here would be a very good recommendation. Besides… I don't think it will happen.".

"Why not?" I wanted to know, hoping she'd give the right answer at last.

"Well… I've heard about certain… things that have happened to her family lately…" she said cautiously. "Beggars blocking her gate, her windows being smashed… If I were her, I wouldn't leave my family alone at such a difficult time, just to continue my career." She smiled slyly.

"How do you know about all those things?" I asked, trying to suppress the note of excitement in my voice.

"Friends of my parents live in the same street as the de Chagnys," she replied readily. "They've told me about it. Terrible, simply terrible…" She shook her head.

I gave a soundless sigh, telling myself that it would have been too easy if she had confessed everything right away. Yet her story did make sense. The only aspect I had to check was whether there really were friends of her family living near the de Chagnys, but I couldn't do so now. So I decided to change the subject for a while. At the moment she had an answer to all of my questions. Maybe I'd manage to catch her unaware later.

"Let's come back to your sister," I said. "What exactly would you like me to do?"

"Just talk to her a little, listen to her voice – it would surely convince you," she answered eagerly. "And then you could tell the managers about her."

"Yes, I could do that," I muttered. "Or else I couldn't. You see, I still wonder why I should do so. The Opera Ghost doesn't do anything out of sheer generosity. So… what can you offer me?"

Estella's smile windened. It was the smile of a little girl who had been examined a long time, only to reach her favourite subject at last. Running her hands over her dress suggestively she all but purred:

"I'm sure there are many things I could offer you. Just come here, and we'll find a way to enjoy ourselves.".

So I stepped out of the shadows. After all, who was I to deny a girl a wish?


	128. Chapter One Hundred and TwentyEight

**Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Eight**

**September 18th 1892: **_Erik_

Watching me walk to the middle of the room, Estella inhaled sharply. I was used to such reactions to seeing me, but usually people only behaved like that when they saw me without the mask, and that was what I had spared the girl. After all, I only wanted her to be intimidated, not to run out of the room, screaming in terror. I could only guess that her reaction was caused by the fact that as long as she hadn't seen me, she had built up an illusion of me in her head, which had been shattered now.

Well, there was no doubt about the fact that she was indeed intimidated, so the rest didn't matter to me. She wasn't trembling, but her eyes were wide as she gazed up at my masked face. Fortunately she was a rather short girl, which made my height only more imposing. I towered over her, looking down like a hawk eyeing a mouse.

"So… you were talking about making me enjoy myself," I reminded her pleasantly, seemingly oblivious to the state she was in.

"Yes…" she whispered timidly. Her voice made it clear that she had hoped I had forgotten it.

"Then do so," I encouraged her. "Now. I don't have all day, and you know I'm not a patient man." I gave the last word a special stress, making her wince as if I had beaten her. I couldn't help smiling a little. Seeing thise self-confident dancer being reduced to an anxious little girl was a pleasure. It was a feeling of power in its purest form.

It was then that I realised with a start that this was exactly what I wanted. I didn't need Estella to give me anything else. Moreover, I didn't _want_ her to give me anything else. I was a man. I had power. Yet exercising that power by making little chorus girls seduce me, although they'd obviously rather eat up their own costumes, was beneath me. That would have been the wrong kind of power, the one that came with an unpleasant taste.

By the time I had drawn that conclusion, it was almost too late. While I had been lost in thought, Estella seemed to have decided that getting over with it quickly was the best solution. She obviously was a supporter of the very direct approach to the subject, for I caught her by the wrist inches away from my private parts.

"What do you think you're doing?" I snarled.

"I… I…" she mumbled, staring up at me with her big, fearful eyes. I noticed with a certain sense of satisfaction that nothing stirred inside me. Christine was the only one who could cause longing in my body.

"I thought you wanted to make me enjoy myself," I prompted.

"Yes, but… but I wanted to… do that… just now…" she stammered, gesturing with her free hand at the one I was still holding.

"You won't get away that easily," I said grimly. "A few minutes of biting back your disgust, then it's over – that was what you wanted, wasn't it? No, no, no. I want something that'll last much longer." I let go of her hand, which she pulled back quickly.

Letting my hands brush over her shoulders deliberately, making her shudder, I leaned down.

"Do you know what I enjoy most?" I asked her in a whisper. She shook her head slightly, her lips pressed together firmly. "I enjoy it when people get what they deserve," I answered my own question. With these words I pushed her back abruptly. She threw me a puzzled glance. Slowly she seemed to realise that I wasn't interested in her on a physical level, but she had no idea what to do, now that her one plan had failed.

"What do you want me to do then? What is it I deserve?" she asked after a few moments, showing an almost admirable amount of courage.

"I thought that was obvious," I replied casually. "I want you to go to Meg Giry and apologise for having been so horrid to her. You will tell her that she's an excellent dancer and that her status in the corps de ballet has nothing to do with her mother, but only with her talent."

Estella frowned. The sudden change of topic had obviously been too much for her. It took her a while to recover enough to speak.

"Of course I'll do that, Monsieur," she said readily. Apparently she had realised that this kind of favour was much more simple than the physical kind. Or so she thought. "I'll wait outside her dressing room, and – "

I shook my head.

"That's not the way I want it." I said. "I want you to tell her now – on the stage."

"In front of everyone?" she asked faintly. "But no! It would ruin my reputation."

"Your reputation as an arrogant, despicable person?" I gave back. "I'm sure you'll manage to live without it. You'll have to change rather radically anyway.You see, if I hear one more negative word about Meg from you, I'll make you pay. And the same goes for your friends. So make sure they know about it as well."

"Meg's a lucky girl," Estella muttered bitterly. "With both the ballet mistress and the Opera Ghost on her side…"

"This isn't a matter of who is on whose side," I stated. "It's a matter of who's right and who's only jealous. And you are jealous of Meg, aren't you?"

"Well… yes," she admitted. "A little. When I came to the opera, everyone admired her. I was just one of the new girls… nothing special…"

"But instead of trying to become someone special by working hard, you started discrediting Meg," I analysed. "A despicable approach to your problem, if I'm allowed to say so… and of course I'm allowed to."

"What else should I have done?" she asked. By now, she was no longer looking up at me in fear, but there was something else in her eyes. It seemed that she was truly interested in my advice.

I, on the other hand, wasn't that much interested in her. But I knew that if I didn't help Estella with her problem, she wouldn't change. She wouldn't dare be unfriendly to Meg again, I'd see to that, but maybe she'd look for another girl as the outlet of her anger and frustration. To me, who basically wanted everything at the opera to work in an acceptable manner, that idea was terrible. Besides, I also had Mme.Giry to consider. A woman of her age shouldn't have to deal with constant fights among the chorus girls.

So I replied:

"You should have done what I suggested a minute ago: You should have worked hard on you dancing, perhaps even seen what you could have learned from Meg. You should have been a friendly girl instead of being the one to gossip about others. But it's not too late. I can assure you that Mme.Giry is a very fair woman. If you make good progress, she'll give you bigger parts. But if you choose to focus your energy on vicious rumours…". I shrugged, indicating that in this case, every piece of advice would have been in vain.

Estella gave me a wry smile. Apparently she'd have preferred a method that didn't involve hard work.

"Thank you very much, Monsieur," she said with false enthusiasm. "I'll… I'll certainly think about it."

"Do that," I muttered. "But make sure the result will be the right one. This was the first and the last time I've discussed this subject with you." She nodded and was about to turn around, hen I held her back. "Before we go, I'd like to ask you one more question: Do you know anything more about the attacks on the de Chagny family?"

"No, Monsieur," she answered. "I only know what the friends of my parents told me. There are a few rumours, of course, but I won't add any more, I promise. I know why you're so interested in the subject, but you don't have to worry. Even if I was absolutely sure that you're the one doing it, I wouldn't tell anyone." She gave me a last smile and left the room. I followed her.

It seemed that I had a new suspect: me. Well, in a way that was making things easier. At least I had found a person I could rule out right away, for I happened to know that I wasn't planning or carrying out attacks of any kind. But then, I still had to be careful. If there really were rumours about me, it could easily become dangerous. What if a neighbour saw me walking around the house, looking for intruders, and alerted the police? Or hadn't Estella meant it like that? Had she only wanted to say that she wouldn't spread rumours anymore, no matter about whom?

Well, I was almost certain she wouldn't feel like gossiping in the next time, especially not about me. So I didn't have to expect anything from her side. But if the rumours already existed, there was nothing I could do, except for keeping my head down and hoping that the neighbours hadn't spotted me yet. This only made me more desperate to catch the person responsible quickly. I rather enjoyed getting a little attention from others, but I had no desire to find myself in the headlines. I was simply growing too old for that nonsense.

I was so busy thinking that I almost didn't notice the fact that we reached the stage. Only the chatting of the chorus girls pulled me out of my reverie. Quickly I hid behind a curtain. I knew how some of the girls reacted to seeing me, and a chaos would have drawn the attention away from Estella. For once, I wanted her to be in the limelight.


	129. Chapter One Hundred and TwentyNine

**Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Nine**

**September 18th 1892: **_Erik_

The moment Estella entered the stage, a few girls stopped practicing and rushed over to her. It looked as though they had waited for her to come for hours, not just a couple of minutes.

"There you are!" they cried. "Where have you been? Did everything went fine? Did he – ?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Estella replied flatly, making me smile. We hadn't talked explicitely about whether to keep the details of our conversation secret, but I was glad she did.

The other girls shrugged, apparently losing their interest in the answer within moments. But then, they probably had far more important things on their minds than a meeting with the Opera Ghost. One of the girls, whom I recognised as Liliane, Estella's best friend, took her by the arm and led her away from the girls who were still practicing. Judging by the way she looked at Mme.Giry, she was about to say something the ballet mistress wouldn't have approved of.

"You really missed something," Liliane told her friend in an excited whisper. "Mme.Giry told Lucille off for wearing too much lipstick. ´The audience is interested in what dancers do with their arms and legs, not with their mouths. There's no need for you to paint yours with coulours so bright that it can be seen from a distance of twenty miles.´" Her imitation of Mme.Giry's voice and manner of speaking was surprisingly accurate. It was a pity that she didn't use her talent for something more worthwile.

Estella giggled a little, but grew serious again quickly. She made a tentative step in the direction of the others, but Liliane didn't seem willing to let her out of her clutches yet.

"Wait!" she hissed. "There's more! I can't let you go before you know all about Glorietta."

"What did she do?" Estella asked. Even my little Philippe would have noticed the lack of enthusiasm in her voice, but her friend apparently wasn't that perceptive.

"She forgot almost all her steps in the second scene," Liliane informed her. "And Mme.Giry said that girls on their first day at the opera usually had a better memory than her, and if Glorietta really had so many important things on her mind that she couldn't fit the steps into it as well, she should think of doing them instead of dancing on a permanent basis."

I glared at the insolent girl, but of course she couldn't see it. I quite agreed with Mme.Giry scolding girls who painted their faces as if they were dolls, and I didn't mind other girls hearing it as well. Yet I couldn't imagine the ballet mistress saying such cruel things to a girl who forgot her steps. Mme.Giry knew only too well that the excitement on the day of a performance could have strange effects on girls.

Growing impatient, I cleared my throat loudly. I had more important things to do than listening to rumours and lies about each and every chorus girl. Those few minutes had only underlined my opinion that this had to stop.

Estella's head jerked in my direction, and she nodded slightly.

"I don't want to hear any more gossip now," she declared firmly.

Liliane looked at her in confusion.

"But… but I haven't even told you about Meg yet," she whispered. "It was so funny. She – "

"No!" Estella hissed. She took a deep breath and marched into the middle of the stage. Her friend followed her, the puzzled expression still on her face. "Could you all stop practicing for a moment, please?" Estella called. "I've got something to say."

"Estella!" Mme.Giry's voice sounded slightly shrill as she came over from a corner of the stage, where she had been helping two younger girls. "What gives you the right to interupt everyone? I'm sure that you think the rumour you've just heard has to be spread immediately, but I advise you to wait till the lunch break. So unless a fire has just broken out or there's a snake in your dressing room, be quiet now and start practicing at last!"

Estella threw her a nervous glance, apparently at a loss for what to do now. If she simply continued talking, even though Mme.Giry had forbidden her to, she risked having to leave the stage. But if she didn't say anything, she'd have to face my wrath later. It wasn't an easy choice, so I decided to help her a little, figuring that if she left the stage now, I'd never hear her apology.

"Let her talk," I said, making it sound as if I were standing right next to Mme.Giry and were whispering into her ear. "You'll like what she has to say." The ballet mistress looked confused for a moment, then she nodded. She had learned to trust me a long time ago.

"Very well," she muttered. "I give you one minute." With these words she stepped back to the side of the stage.

"Thank you," Estella whispered. Then she went on in a louder voice: "Well… I don't want to keep you from practicing, so I'll make it quick. Meg? Could you come here for a moment?".

Meg, who had been standing next to her mother, complied reluctantly.

"What is it?" she hissed, in a voice so soft that only Estella and I could hear it. "Do you have enough of talking behind my back and want to do so in front of everyone now?"

"Yes… I mean, no," Estella gave back. "I just want to…" She swallowed hard. "I want to apologise," she called. "I've been very unfriendly to you, and I'm… I'm sorry about it. You're not a bad dancer. In fact… in fact you're a very good dancer… yes… and you deserve being admired by everyone… That's all."

No one said a word. The chorus girls and Mme.Giry stared at Estella in disbelief. A moment later the first girl burst into hysterical laughter. A second and third one joined in, and before longh half of the chorus girls were laughing, some openly, some behind their hands.

"You're always so funny," Liliane called, giggling as though she had gone insane. "First you pretend to be all solemn and honest, and then…" She was laughing too hard to go on.

Mme.Giry's face, however, showed no sign of amusement. Meg had gone pale. So, to my surprise, had Estella. She was looking at the chaos around her, the chaos she had unwillingly created, and she was chewing her bottom lip nervously. I knew that she'd never manage to convince the others that she was serious if she didn't get help, and by the look on her face, she knew it as well.

Yet without meaning to do so, Mme.Giry helped her.

"Silence!" she bellowed, and silence fell upon the room as suddenly as if all girls had been struck mute. "Estella Piqué," she went on in a dangerously low voice. "How dare you?" She was so agitated that she had to take a deep breath before continuing. I seized my chance immediately. If the only thing Estella learned today was that being friendly was followed by being yelled at, she'd never try it again. I couldn't let that happen.

"She means what she said," I whispered into the ear of the ballet mistress. "So support her!"

Mme.Giry's reaction was instant: Her piercing gaze moved away from Estella and to the other girls.

"How dare you all laugh about what she says?" she called. "How dare you make fun of someone who sees a mistake and tries to fix it?" She went over to Estella, who seemed just as stunned as everyone else, and patted her shoulder. "It took a lot of courage to do what you did," she added in a low voice.

"It wasn't my idea," Estella said truthfully. "I… I was persuaded to do it by… someone."

"Oh yes, that ´someone´ can be very persuasive," Mme.Giry remarked dryly. "I believe he's got his very own… methods…"

She looked at her daughter pointedly, and at last Meg seemed to understand. She let her gaze wander over the stage, but couldn't spot me anywhere. Still she mouthed the words ´Thank you´.

"You're welcome," I muttered.

I had to admit that being selfless for a change made me feel rather good. Well, it did have its advantages for me as well, because fights among the chorus girls could mean bad performances, and I didn't want my opera to gain a negative reputation. Yet I had mainly done it for Meg's benefit. She had been so nice to me, so it was only natural that I was nice to her as well.

Besides… I simply couldn't keep my thoughts from drifting off into a selfish direction. What if Meg told everyone what I had done when we'd eat together at her home? Surely it would make me appear as a good person, and perhaps Philippe would realise that my face wasn't that important and forget his questions about it. At this point I could hardly keep myself from banging my head against a nearby wall. Philippe was a five-year-old boy, for Heaven's sake! It was absurd to expect such a reaction from him. He wanted to satisfy his curiosity, and that was what he'd do.

I watched Meg and Estella shake hands and exchange first tentative smiles, but the scene had lost its appeal for me. I just wanted to go… someplace where I'd be safe from my own thoughts. Yet such a place probably didn't exist. So I merely walked down a corridor, then another one. If I walked long enough, I'd eventually end up somewhere, wouldn't I?


	130. Chapter One Hundred and Thirty

**Author's note:** I'd just like to say a brief word of thanks to my readers, the old ones as well as the new ones. You have no idea how much your reviews inspire me to continue writing.

**Chapter One Hundred and Thirty**

**September 18th 1892: **_Erik_

I should have known I'd end up here. Somehow my feet seemed to develop a life of their own at times, carrying me to places I had never asked them to bring me to. Yet at the moment every other place would have been better than this one. I'd have preferred Signora Marchesi's room. I'd have preferred the chorus girls' dressing room, even with them in it. Yes, I'd have even preferred the stuffy little room the stagehands met in to play cards and drink cheap wine.

But no… of all places there were at the opera, my feet had brought me _here_. Christine's old dressing room. The place where it had all begun, all the pain, all the misery… and all the joy. Of course I had given her lessons in another room before, but for some reason that room had never held such a big significance for me.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Christine had first seen me in there. On that day she had learned that I was not a ghost and not an angel. I couldn't help thinking that an intelligent girl such as her must have suspected it before, but she had got proof from me only that day, when I had opened the mirror and taken her with me. Today I could smile about how nervous I had been, almost like a groom seeing his bride on their wedding day. I had known our relationship would become more complicated from that day, but…

…but if I had had any idea just how complicated it would become, I'd have perhaps chosen to stay in the shadows. If I had known that more than a decade later I'd be standing at that very door because my world was breaking into pieces around me… I shook my head. There was no point in pondering on what I should have done. I had to decide what I wanted to do now.

Quickly I pulled a small key out of my pocket and inserted it into the lock. Of course I could have opened the door without it, but this was important for me. I didn't want to enter the room like a thief, but like a guest, who was so welcome that he had been given a key. There wasn't the slightest bit of rust on the keyhole, for I made sure it was polished once a week, just like the entire door. The managers didn't think too much of the additional expense, especially for a room no one would ever use again, but they weren't foolish enough to question me.

The key turned without problems. I pressed down the door handle and opened the door slowly, carefully. It had been a while since the last time I – or anyone else, for that matter – had been in there. I entered the room with cautious steps, like someone might enter a church… or a graveyard. In a way, this room was both for me. It was the place where I had worshipped Christine and the place where I had mourned her. It was a place of overwhelming happiness and just as overwhelming sadness. It was hell and it was paradise.

It was just a normal room. The realisation was abrupt and cruel as I stepped inside. It was a normal, dusty old room that reeked of neglect. Well, given the fact that no one had used it in years, that was hardly surprising. All the furniture was covered with large pieces of cloth, so that it appeared oddly shapeless. I inhaled deeply, expecting to smell the sweet scent of Christine's soap and powder, only to realise that the air in the room was stale and full of dust. It made me cough.

I closed my eyes for a moment… and when I opened them, it was back. I was no longer standing in an abandoned old room, but in the dressing room of the girl I loved. Everything was there, from the hairbrush and the ribbons on the dressing table to the fan she had used to play with. The cushions on the sofa were standing in a neat row. There even was a vase with flowers.

And then there was the mirror. Highly polished as usual, its surface was shining like that of a lake… of my lake. One day I'd take her down to see it. I was sure Christine would enjoy gliding over it in my gondola. And once she'd have seen my home… I gave a dreamy little sigh. We'd sing together, and I'd play the organ for her, and we'd be happy. She'd realise how enormous my feelings for her were, and maybe she'd even return them.

A second fit of coughing brought me back to reality abruptly. Blinking the specks of dust out of my eyes, I noticed that in the course of my little journey into the past, I had pulled the cloth off the mirror, thus causing the shower of dust. The mirror was no longer shiny. It had become patched at the spots where the cloths had failed to cover it properly.

Inexplicably, the sight brought tears to my eyes. I didn't want all this. I didn't want the mirror to be dirty, I didn't want the room to be abandoned… and I didn't want Christine to be gone from it. Why couldn't things have stayed the way they had been? Why hadn't I been content with my life as the Opera Ghost? Why had I ever tried to open up to Christine?

Everything was simple: If I had never told her that I was a real person, she wouldn't have shunned me. I had practically pushed her into the Vicomte's arms. If she hadn't fallen in love with the Vicomte, there would be no Philippe asking awkward questions now. There would be no chaos of emotions inside me. Life would be easy.

I felt a wild urge to go back to that state before I had revealed my true identity to Christine. Yes, I had been lonely then. But I was lonely now, too, wasn't I? In fact, I felt much lonelier than I had felt before. By now I was sure that Philippe would reject me. So why did I have to return to the de Chagnys at all? I had experienced enough rejection to last me a lifetime; I didn't have to hear that one as well.

_Go back!_ the whole room seemed to whisper. _Become the Opera Ghost again! Life was so easy back then…_

It wasn't a hard decision. After just a few moments my fingers were wandering over the upper edge of the mirror, as I searched for the switch that opened it. I could only hope it would still work after all the years of not being used.

How easily my fingers rememberd every step! Gliding over the smooth wood, finding the switch, pressing down the right side of it – I could have done it in my sleep. Stepping back I watched the glass slide aside. The corridor behind it was pitch-black, but that didn't hold me back. Other people fled from the darkness. The Opera Ghost embraced it.

A smile spread across my face as I entered the passageway, feeling the cold air hit me. Pushing aside the cobwebs with one arm, I used the other hand to close the mirror. Everything still seemed to be working smoothly. I inhaled deeply, taking a few moments to simply enjoy the sensations rushing through me. I was back to being a mere ghost, a shadow. I had left behind my worries and my anxiety. Ghosts didn't have those feelings.

I was just about to decide whether to stay here for a little longer or explore the passageway to check whether nothing had caved in, when a sound startled me. The door to the dressing room was opened, and Meg Giry entered it. She was looking distinctly worried, though I couldn't imagine the reason. But then, what did I care about what was going on in the head of a chorus girl, even if it was my loyal Mme.Giry's daughter?

"Erik? Erik, are you here?" she called, looking around curiously.

I didn't reply. Sure, I remembered that there had been a time when people had called me Erik, but it was over. Besides, no chorus girl had the right to call for me and get an instant reaction, like from a faithful dog. Who did that Meg Giry think she was?

The girl continued looking around, strutting through the room as if it belonged to her. Then her gaze fell upon the mirror. Seconds later she was standing in front of it.

"Are you there?" she called. "Hiding behind the mirror?"

Now I did have to answer.

"The Opera Ghost does not hide," I corrected her. "If I choose not to show myself, it is only my business."

"Are you trying to be funny as well now?" she wanted to know. "That's nice of you, but we don't have the time. I've arranged for a coach to pick us up in five minutes. Then we'll get Christine and Philippe as well and drive straight to my home. Jean will welcome you with open arms. He's looking forward to meeting you again. So do come out now. You can play Opera Ghost again later."

"I am not playing, Mademoiselle," I informed her politely. "I am the Opera Ghost, and I can assure you that I have no idea what you are talking about."

The girl's eyes grew wide, as if she had realised something.

"Oh Erik, something must have happened to you," she whispered. Her hand darted out to touch the mirror, but she seemed to change her mind and pulled it back. "I'll go and get Christine," she announced. "She'll make you all right again. After all, she's your wife now."

"Wife?" I repeated incredulously. "Ghosts do not have wives."


	131. Chapter One Hundred and ThirtyOne

**Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-One**

**September 18th 1892: **_Christine_

"Look what I've been given, Madame!" Larisse called, waving merrily.

I saw something white in her hand, but couldn't make it out exactly from the distance. Quickly I came down the stairs. I had been about to get Philippe and myself something to drink, when the entrance door had been opened. I had half expected to see Erik, although I now told myself I had been silly. After all, he hadn't even left two hours ago, and it wasn't likely that he'd be back that soon.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, however, I stopped dead, realising that the white object was a letter.

"Where did you get that?" I asked warily.

"A man gave it to me in the street, just outside the house," the cook replied, and I braced myself for the worst.

"You should have thrown it away," I muttered dismissively. "I'm not in the mood to read new insults and accusations." The only good aspect I could see about it was that the envelope wasn't big enough to contain any more dead animals.

"But the man said he was a messenger sent by the Comte," Larisse argued. "I couldn't have thrown a letter from him away, could I?" She handed me the letter, and I accepted it gingerly, holding it by just one corner. "Besides," she went on. "If you turn it over…"

I followed her instructions, and a smile spread across my face as I spotted all the proof I needed.

"The de Chagny seal," I breathed, running my finger over it. "Thank you…"

"Oh, you're welcome," the cook gave back, patting my arm in a motherly way. "I know you've been waiting for news from your husband. It can't be easy, being separated from each other for days at a time. I already miss my husband by noon, and I see him again in the evening… But I should better leave you alone now and go to the kitchen. I've got to put these away anyway." She held up a basket full of groceries. The sight of the food reminded me of something.

"By the way, Erik, Philippe and I have been invited to have lunch with Meg Tavoire and her husband today," I informed her quickly, before it slipped my mind again. "So there'll only be Jacques, Gabriel and you here. I hope you don't mind."

There was a brief look of disappointment on the cook's round face, but she hid it quickly.

"It's all right," she assured me. "I'll keep the roast for dinner and make just a nice broth for lunch. I'll help Gabriel regain his strength."

I couldn't help smiling about her plan, for I knew Gabriel himself wouldn't necessarily agree with it. He'd have preferred a nice piece of meat to a nice broth. Yet since he liked Larisse far too much to offend her deliberately, he'd eat it anyway.

"So everything is settled then," I stated. "Erik will pick up Philippe and me later. And I want you to stay inside this afternoon. I don't think anything will happen, but… Well, there's no one here to protect you, so stay inside."

"I'm sure Gabriel will do his best," Larisse said with a fond smile. "He'll rather enjoy playing the role of the protector."

"But do try to hold him back a little," I advised her. "Two days ago he was still lying in bed, feeling ill, and I don't want him to go back to that state anytime soon. I can't imagine he wants that either."

"I'll see what I can do," the cook promised. "But I should really go now. I don't want to keep you from reading your letter."

"We'll see each other later then," I muttered, turning around. While I had been talking to Larisse, I had almost forgotten the letter. Well, at least I had tried to make myself forget it. But now that was no longer possible. I had to read it.

Yet one thing was certain: I wouldn't be able to do so in Philippe's room, while he was sitting next to me, reading his book. All thoughts of fetching something to drink were forgotten as I went into the living room, which seemed to be the best place for reading the letter. A letter from my husband… But was Raoul my husband at the moment? Hadn't Erik taken over that position?

Well, for the sake of making things easier, I'd have to think of him as my husband again for a few minutes. He had written the letter as my husband, so I had to read it under the same conditions. Yet that still didn't tell me what it meant to me. If that journey had taken place three months ago, I'd have been very pleased to receive a letter from Raoul. No matter how busy he had been, he had never forgotten to send me at least a few lines.

But now… Why wasn't I happy about him writing to me? Why were my hands shaking as I opened the envelope? Why was I so nervous that I could barely read the first lines? Why weren't things simple for me anymore?

_Oslo, September 17th 1892_

_My dearest Christine,_

_How are you? And how are the children? I spend every spare minute thinking of you. In fact, your lovely face keep appearing in my head in the most unsuitable situations, making me smile, which has earned me many a comment on the famous French gaiety._

_Life here in Oslo doesn't seem to be much different from life in Paris. I'm living in a very nice hotel, but I don't see much of it. As soon as I'm in my room for more than two minutes at a time, there's a knock at the door, and I have to leave yet again. The businessmen I'm working with are determined to prove how efficient they are, which is why they've planned every moment of my stay._

_In a way, that's good, for it means I'll get over with everything quickly. But on the other hand I'd like to have some time for myself, also to explore the city on my own. Perhaps I'll be able to return here one day with you and the children. I'm sure you'd like it here._

_Yesterday evening I was taken to the opera. I had only arrived in the city a few minutes earlier and was rather tired, so you can imagine I wasn't pleased. Yet since everything was already arranged, I couldn't bring myself to refuse. Of course their wish to entertain me wasn't the primary goal of the businessmen. They are planning to buy the opera house with money I'm supposed to lend them. Since they already possess several theatres, which are more or less successful, I might agree to give them the money._

_I apologise for the little digression in the boring world of my business. Actually I wanted to tell you about the opera itself. It was a rather dull performance. I didn't like the prima donna, whose voice sounded very shrill. The chorus girls weren't good either. If you see Meg, you can tell her that she doesn't have to be afraid of competition from the North._

_Anyway, listening to the singers reminded me of the conversation we had a few days ago and of your wish to take singing lessons again. I think we should start looking for a teacher as soon as I come back. Perhaps Mme.Giry could recommend us someone, since she knows so many people. The question of money is unimportant, of course. I'm willing to pay whatever it takes, if only it makes you happy._

_But maybe you've found a teacher yourself by now. I'm sure you know who I'm speaking of. I shouldn't accuse you of such things, but sometimes I simply can't help imagining what you might be doing with him, perhaps in the very moment I'm writing this letter._

_You probably think me a bad person because I have such thoughts, and you're right about it. But Christine… think of all the good times we had together, think of our children. You're not going to throw all that away, are you? Perhaps you're merely experiencing the thrill of the new. I know that there hasn't been something new and adventurous in our relationship for a long time. You deserve being worshipped and adored, and maybe I haven't told you often enough how much you mean to me. The thought of you being with him breaks my heart._

_Forgive me if all this sounds very confused, but I'm writing it at the only time I truly have for myself: at night. My candle is burning low and I don't want to go and fetch a new one, which means that I'll have to stop soon. I've hired someone who will take my letter to Paris the moment it'll be finished. If Im lucky, you'll have it in the morning._

_Oh, I forgot to ask whether everything is all right at home. Have there been more attacks? I tried to get a French newspaper, but of course they wouldn't report about small incidents. I hope that he's at least fulfilling his task. If he lets something happen to anyone of you, I'll kill him or die trying. Yes, you can tell him that._

_I apologise for ending a letter on this rather grim note, but some things simply have to be said. Farewell, my love, and don't forget that I love you have much._

_Your husband, Comte Raoul de Chagny_

_Post script: I'm not sure when I'll come back, but it could be soon, maybe as soon as the evening of the 18th or 19th. _

The letter fell out of my hand, sailed through the air like a white bird and landed on the floor. I watched it motionessly.


	132. Chapter One Hundred and ThirtyTwo

**Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Two**

**September 18th 1892: **_Christine_

Tonight? Raoul would maybe come back as soon as tonight? The chaos which that tiny post script caused inside me was terrible. If my thoughts had been screaming aloud instead of fighting in my head, I'd have gone deaf within minutes. There were two groups of feelings, groups so different from each other that it was unbelievable that they actually both fitted into the same person.

One group was shocked. ´Why does Raoul have to come home already?´ it seemed to ask me, as if I knew the answer. ´Just when you're so happy with Erik…´ That group would be rather pleased if Raoul came back much later. Or.. I tried to stop the thought, but it was there anyway. Or if he didn't come back at all.

The other group, however, was looking forward to Raoul's return. I realised with a start that I had missed him, his gentle voice, his kisses… A moment later I was shocked that I had been shocked about that realisation. After all, he was my husband. Missing him was normal. Or was Erik my husband at the moment? In that case it would be wrong to miss Raoul, wouldn't it?

I let my head sink down into my hands with a loud sigh. I hadn't expected it to be like this. I hadn't… well, actually I hadn't thought that much about Raoul's return and what would happen afterwards. The things I had told Erik to encourage him had been true for me as well: In the last days I had tried to live for the moment, pretending that there was no future, or at least that all future problems would solve themselves without me having to do anything about it.

Only now did I realise how childish such thoughts had been. Not once had my problems solved themselves, so why should it happen now of all times, when the problems were bigger than ever before? No, at the end of the day I'd be the one who had to solve the problems. No one else could do it for me.

And once more, people would end up hurt, no matter how I'd… decide. I let out another sigh. Making decisions really wasn't one of my strong sides. In the past, my decisions had had the alarming tendency to be wrong. Yet despite that sad fact, I knew I couldn't postpone it any longer. This time, I'd have to make a decision that would last forever. Forever was a very long time. I had to get the decision right.

Yet the mere thought of Raoul, Erik and me standing or sitting in a room and the two men looking at me expectantly made me break out into a sweat. I wouldn't be able to stand such a scene a second time. Moreover, what good had it been? I had decided against Erik, and still we had ended up married and sleeping with each other.

Perhaps I should try to decide while I was alone and only tell the men of the choice I had made afterwards. That would save me the direct confrontation with both of them. Yet it had one crucial disadvantage: If the men didn't have to be with me, nothing kept me from making a decision right now. I didn't have to wait for Raoul to come back.

But I wanted to wait. I wanted to wait for a long, long time. I needed every minute I could get to think about everything. And I… I straightened up, suddenly remembering something. I didn't have time for making a decision now. Philippe was sitting upstairs, waiting for me. I couldn't let my son wait for selfish reasons, could I?

I left the living room quickly, closing the door with a determined snap, as if by doing so I could lock in the thoughts I had had. The letter was tucked away safely in my pocket. Of course I'd tell Philippe that his father had written, but I wouldn't show the letter to him. Since Erik had started teaching him, the boy's abilities had grown quickly, and I wasn't sure how much he could already read.

Yet before I went back to my son's room, I made a little detour to the kitchen. After all, I had promised Philippe something to drink and was feeling rather thirsty myself. Larisse bid me welcome with a warm smile.

"Madame," she said, looking up from the pile of potatoes she had just been peeling. "What can I do for you?"

"I just want something to drink for Philippe and me," I explained. "But I can get it myself," I added, as she made to stand up. "I know where everything is. You can just go on doing what you're doing."

Larisse made a slightly helpless gesture, then continued peeling the potatoes. She knew better than to argue with me about such matters. Even after more than ten years of living with servants in the house, I still did many things myself which the neighbours would have never done. Making the servants do too many things for me, especially if it meant that they had to interrupt another activity, made me feel a little guilty, although, as Raoul reminded me every now and then, they were being paid for it after all.

As if she had sensed that I was thinking about my husband, the cook chose this moment to ask:

"Did you receive good news from the Comte?".

"Oh yes," I answered in what I hoped was a casual voice. "He'll come home soon." I myself wasn't sure whether those were good news, yet for Larisse there seemed to be no doubt about it. She beamed at me.

"You must be so happy," she remarked. "And the children, too. They miss their Papa."

"They do?" I couldn't help asking.

"Of course they do," Larisse replied. "Jacqueline and I were talking about it only yesterday."

It took me a huge amount of self-restraint not to stare at her in disbelief. Of course Jacqueline had a very good connection to the children, but usually I also knew what was going on in their heads. Had I been so busy with Erik that I hadn't noticed anything else?

Quickly I turned around, afraid that the cook could read my thoughts from my eyes, and opened the cupboard.

"Well, it's only natural that they miss him," I said flatly. "He's their father. He misses them as well; he told me so in his letter."

"Such a nice man," Larisse muttered, her knife working without pause. "Surely you're very glad that you have him."

"Mmm…" I made, rummaging in the cupboard loudly, even though I had spotted the glasses on the first glance. If I was loud enough, I could pretend that the rest of my comment had been drowned by the sounds. Slowly I was having enough of Larisse's remarks about how happy I had to be, but I couldn't bring myself to saying so. She was a lovely person, and I didn't want to offend her.

Apparently I had been standing there with my head in the cupboard too long, for the cook's next words were:

"If you don't find the glasses, just let me look for them.".

"I've already found them," I said, taking out two glasses hastily and putting them on the table. I filled them with juice, called "Goodbye!" in Larisse's direction and was glad that I could leave the kitchen.

Yet I was aware that it had been a narrow escape. A more suspicious or less busy person than her would have noticed that something was wrong. I'd have to disguise my feelings more carefully, starting right now. Not only Philippe's ability to read, but also his perception had grown in the last weeks. And once Erik would be back, nothing in my head would be safe from detection. But I didn't want to worry about that now. I had to face one problem at a time. So I forced myself to smile, hoping it would trick Philippe into thinking I was fine.

The boy was sitting in his beloved armchair at the window when I entered the room. It was exactly the place where I had left him. He looked very serious and important as he sat there with the big book on his knees, tracing a line with his index finger and mouthing the words. His legs were so short that they didn't touch the floor. Placing the glasses on a table as I passed it, I went over to him and kissed his forehead.

"I'm sorry that I didn't come back sooner," I said gently. "Larisse arrived, and she brought a letter from your father."

"Can I read it?" he asked instantly, looking up from his book.

"You wouldn't be able to read it," I replied, glad that I didn't have to make up a lie. "Your father's handwriting is much more difficult to decipher than a text in a book. But I can tell you what he wrote: He misses you, and he'll come home soon."

"That's wonderful," Philippe said, smiling brightly. "And how soon is soon?"

"Tonight or tomorrow – he didn't know it exactly himself," I answered cautiously, since I didn't want to raise his hopes.

"And will he – ?"

My son was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a door being slammed shut somewhere in the house. It was followed by hurried footsteps coming up the stairs. A few moments later the door was wrenched open, and Meg's face appeared. Her cheeks were red, her hair was untidy, and she was panting slightly.

"What happened?" I asked in alarm.

"It's Erik," she said simply.


	133. Chapter One Hundred and ThirtyThree

**Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Three**

**September 18th 1892: **_Meg_

"What happened to Uncle Erik?" Philippe cried, his eyes growing wide with fear.

It was only now that I saw him struggling to leap out of his armchair, held back by his mother's arm, that it occurred to me that simply running into the room had been very foolish. I should have better called for Christine and asked her to talk to me outside. Unfortunately blind panic wasn't the best advisor in such matters. It had merely told me to come here as quickly as possible, drag my friend out of the room and go back to the opera.

Yet now, facing a terrified little boy, I realised I needed a much better plan. Suppressing my own fear and agitation, I replied airily:

"Oh, it's nothing serious. Erik just… needs your mother's help.". I stressed the last words, winking at Christine meaningfully. "He… he can't find a certain… object in his house, and he wants her to help him look for it."

I watched Philippe nervously to see whether he believed my story. I didn't have a lot of experience with little children and wasn't sure how gullible they were. Yet to my relief the boy nodded.

"Can I come with you?" he then asked. "I'm good at finding things. What is it that – ?"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," I interrupted him hastily, before his mother could give a different reply. "You see… you see…" Frantically I searched for a new excuse, but the fact that I didn't lie very often made it very difficult for me.

Christine still seemed to possess her old intuition for times when I was in trouble. She comprehended my problem at once and jerked her head into the direction of the boy. At first I had no idea what she was trying to tell me. I threw her a puzzled glance, and she repeated the motion of her head, this time combined with a small wave of her hand… at the book in Philippe's lap. Finally I understood her. At least I hoped I did.

"Erik wants you to continue reading… in that book," I said tentatively.

Christine nodded.

"It'll be best for you to go down into the kitchen while we're not here," she decided. "Larisse will look after you."

"All right," Philippe agreed, getting up from his armchair. This time, his mother didn't hold him back. "But if you come back and still haven't found it, I'll go looking for it, too."

"Of course, of course," I muttered, although I sincerely hoped that would never happen. The state Erik had been in had scared me. I didn't want to expose a child to it.

Christine made small attempts to speak to me without Philippe noticing it all the way to the kitchen, but I just shook my head. It wasn't a matter that could be explained in two minutes' time, and frankly I thought it better if Christine sat down while listening to what had happened. Just in case…

"In the coach," I murmured, and she nodded reluctantly.

The other two went into the kitchen, but I waited outside. I wanted us to leave quickly, and I knew it would become much harder once the cook had spotted me. She'd doubtlessly offer me something to eat or drink, and we didn't have time for such things now. I used the few minutes to think about what I'd tell Christine. I had already done so on the coach ride, but I still hadn't found the right words.

It would have been a big advantage if I had known what exactly had happened to Erik. Christine probably wouldn't believe me how serious his condition was, or she'd think my story to be a joke, just like I had done at first. Yet she hadn't seen Erik. Well, I hadn't seen him either because he had been behind the mirror, but hearing him had been enough to frighten me. He had sounded completely sincere in his claim that he was the Opera Ghost and nothing more.

Yet what had scared me most had been the fact that he had said he didn't have a wife. Erik would have never said that, not when he was so happy about finally being with Christine, unless… Maybe he had bumped his head somewhere and forgotten everything. I had heard of such incidents. The problem I had with this theory was that I simply couldn't imagine Erik bumping his head. It was too… undiginfied. Besides, he knew every inch of the opera house, every wall and every beam. Such a man didn't hurt himself. It would be like a sailor losing his way in his own bathtub.

Finally Christine left the kichen.

"What is it?" she demanded at once. "What is this thing Erik had lost and wants me to find it?"

I swallowed hard.

"His mind," I whispered. "I believe he has lost his mind."

"Are you making a joke?" she wanted to know. "For if that's supposed to be a joke, it's not funny. You scared Philippe as well, you see."

"Do I look as if I were joking?" I asked.

My friend examined the expression on my face closely for a moment, then she seemed to understand that I was serious, for the smile on her face faded.

"No, you don't," she said in a low voice. "Why don't you finally tell me what happened? What makes you think Erik has lost his mind?"

I opened my mouth to comply, but closed it again, suddenly remembering how much time I had already lost since I had arrived here. In my initial plan it had all worked much faster, and I couldn't afford any more delays. So I simply grabbed Christine's hand and pulled her down the corridor, muttering "I'll tell you in the coach.".

She barely had time to take her handbag and a coat before we hurried out of the door and down the steps.

"The coach is waiting for us," I informed her. "I rented one of the opera's coaches. I could have taken Jean's, but I didn't remember I had come in it…" I shook my head about my own behaviour. It wasn't like me to react that carelessly.

"So?" Christine asked, the moment we had taken our seats in the coach and I had told the driver to take us back to the opera.

Knowing we didn't have any time to lose, I launched right into the tale of what had happened between Estella and me on the stage this morning. I made it quick, for I could practically see my friend growing more impatient by the moment. She was probably wondering what on earth all that had to do with Erik.

"…and I didn't realise Erik was behind it until my mother said so more or less openly," I finished, making Christine smile for the first time since our journey had begun.

"I should have known he'd do something like that," she muttered, more to herself than to me. "So he never planned to let her… oh, never mind that now," she added, seeing my questioning glance. "None of it sounds as if he had been out of his mind. Are you sure you weren't… exaggerating a little?"

"I wish I was," I said with a sigh. Then I told her the rest of the story, the part that I had been dreading. I told her how peculiar Erik had been when I had talked to him in the dressing room, that he had refused to come out… and that he had claimed not to be married. Christine grew paler with every word I uttered.

"How could he say that?" she whispered. "We were so happy together…"

"Of course you were," I assured her gently. "Everyone could see that. Something must have happened between the time he talked to Estella and the moment I came to see him in your former dressing room. But I wonder what that could have been. There wasn't that much time, you know. I only exchanged a few more words with my mother, then I left the stage to look for Erik and thank him for what he had done. Well, it did take me a couple of minutes to find him, but…" I couldn't go on, for in this moment we reached the opera and had to leave the coach.

Neither of us spoke while we made out way through the corridors. By now they were so crowded that any word would have been overheard, and we couldn't risk that. Every now and then, I threw my friend and sideways glance. Her face was still very pale, and it looked as though she were clenching her teeth, probably to hold back tears.

At last we reached the dressing room.

"What am I supposed to do?" Christine asked me in a whisper, gripping my arm. She looked terrified and utterly helpless.

"Just talk to him," I suggested uncertainly. "If something has really made him lose his memory, I'm sure that you're the one who can help him get it back."

She nodded, and I regarded it as a sign that she was ready. I didn't bother knocking, but opened the door at once. Fortunately it still wasn't locked.

The room was empty. I hadn't expected it to be any different.

"Erik?" I called. "M. le Fantome?" I added after a moment, remembering that he hadn't reacted to being called Erik the last time. "I'm back, and I brought Christine with me." It was then that I spotted something in the dim light coming from the door: The mirror stood slightly ajar. In a display of far more courage than I felt, I went over to it and peered through the crack. As far as I could tell, no one was there.

Hearing a gasp, I spun around. Christine was crouching on the floor. At first I thought she had doubled over in pain, but then I realised she had bent down to pick up a small object from the floor. Apparently the sight of it had been so shocking that she had sat down.

"Please, God, no," she whispered, her voice sounding terribly hollow. When I came closer, I recognised the small object as a golden ring.


	134. Chapter One Hundred and ThirtyFour

**Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Four**

**September 18th 1892: **_Christine_

I started down at the ring, feeling completely stunned. Up to now, I had still been able to tell myself that Meg or Erik were making a joke with me. Yet the ring was a piece of evidence I couldn't ignore. Erik would have never taken it off as long as he was in his right mind. After all, he hadn't taken it off for ten years, so why should he do so now?

I turned the small golden loop around and around in my fingers, looking at it transfixed. Maybe, if I watched it long enough, it would reveal Erik's secret. I didn't honestly believe it myself, but it was better than the alternative, better than admitting that I had no idea what was going on or what to do about it. I felt so very helpless. If circumstances had been different, I'd have asked either Erik or Raoul for support. Yet neither of them was here. That was just the problem.

A hand shaking my shoulder roughly pulled me out of my reverie.

"Christine," Meg called, and judging by the sound of it, she didn't do it for the first time. "What is this you're holding in your hand?"

I turned my head slowly, noticing that she had sat down on the floor next to me.

"Erik's wedding ring," I replied in a whisper, my voice thick with suppressed tears. "He… he hasn't taken it off for ten years… How could he…?"

"Maybe he was forced to do so," Meg suggested. "Someone… someone abducted him after I left the dressing room."

I merely shook my head. If I hadn't been so miserable, I'd have laughed about it. It was a nice attempt to cheer me up.

"Nobody could abduct Erik, just like that," I told her. "He knows how to defend himself. Besides, you said yourself that he was behind the mirror when you talked to him. Not even I know how to open the mirror from the inside. He's the only one who can do that, and if he was in the state you described, he wouldn't have let anyone in."

"But what happened then?" my friend asked. "Why is the mirror open?"

I looked at the mirror, then at the ring. Meg followed my gaze, and I knew she was thinking what I did: The crack wasn't wide enough for a person to squeeze through, not even a very slim one. A ring, however, could have been thrown through it without problems.

Reaching that conclusion, I couldn't hold back tears any longer.

"He left!" I wailed. "He… he threw the ring into the room like rubbish and left!"

Putting an arm around my shoulders, Meg rummaged in her pockets. After a moment she pulled out a handkerchief, which she gave me.

"There, there…" she muttered soothingly.

I crumpled it in my hand, but didn't use it. What difference did it make whether there were tears running down my face? What difference did anything make? Erik had left me. He had gone, without a word of explanation, without farewell.

"How can he do this to me?" I whispered softly. "We had such a good time together. He never said anything about leaving. Yes, maybe I'd have decided against him in the end, but why did he leave before that? He didn't even know about Raoul's letter…"

"Which letter?" Meg wanted to know.

I looked at her, my vision blurred because of the tears. I had almost forgotten that she was there.

"Raoul wrote me a letter, telling me he'll come back tonight or tomorrow," I explained, snivelling.

"Oh, that's…" my friend stopped herself, clearly not knowing what to say. "Ho do _you_ feel about it?" she finally asked.

"I'm not sure," I admitted honestly. If there was one person who'd understand me, it was Meg. "On the one hand I'm glad he'll return, but on the other… it means I'll have to make a decision, doesn't it?" I was almost hoping she'd say no.

"Well, not anymore, given the fact that Erik's gone," she replied, biting her lip as she saw the expression on my face. That had not been the right answer. "I'm sorry, Christine, that was tactless," she murmured. "But do you really think he left because of the decision you'll have to make?"

I shrugged.

"It's a possibility," I said. "I hadn't told him about the letter yet, but of course he knew I'd have to decide sooner or later. Perhaps he wanted to make things easier for me…" The thought made fresh tears run down my cheeks. He was so selfless.

"I think you're making a mistake," Meg told me softly. "The decision was the last thing you thought about, but was it also the last thing you talked to him about?"

"No," I admitted. "We were talking about Estella and about… about his plan to tell the chldren what's behind the mask. I guess they'll have to live without those explanations. Antoinette will be devastated."

My friend gave me a little smile.

"That's probably true," she agreed. Since I hadn't wiped away the tears yet, she gently wound the handkerchief out of my hand and dabbed my eyes. I let her do it, for I enjoyed being cared for.

"Do you think Erik could have left because he wanted to avoid the confrontation with the children?" I asked hesitantly.

She didn't reply for a few moments, and when she finally did it, it was in the determined voice of a woman who knew she was right.

"No," she answered. "I don't think he left at all."

I threw her a questioning glance.

"Of course he left," I argued. "He used to be in this room, and he's no longer here. That's usually called leaving." I was rather surprised by this momentary outburst of sarcasm, but thought it a good sign.

"Well, yes, he did leave, but not for the reasons we've just talked about," she gave back. "I should have contradicted you sooner, but I didn't think of it. You didn't hear him, Christine. He was completely serious about what he said. He really didn't seem to remember what had happened between you and him. So you can't blame him for having left. Yes, I told him to wait, but since when does the Opera Ghost take orders from a mere chorus girl?"

"Maybe he was only pretending to have forgotten everything," I said. I refused to believe that he could have actually forgotten it. The thought was too terrible. Yet Meg shook her head, destroying that shred of hope as well.

"I've grown up at the opera," she reminded me. "I've been around actors for nearly all my life. Believe me, I can tell whether someone's lying… or acting. Erik was doing neither of it. He meant it. And then there's the ring. You told me yourself that he has been wearing it for ten years."

I nodded slowly. Even I couldn't ignore such facts. I had to accept that Erik hadn't left because he had wanted to help me or escape from me, but because… because he had wanted something I had no idea about. That wasn't exactly comforting either. But in a way, it was better than the other options.

"At least he didn't run away from you," my friend remarked, proving once more that our thoughts were working along the same lines. "That's good, isn't it?"

"Well, yes," I replied. "But it leaves us completely in the dark about why he left."

"Maybe he simply didn't want to be here anymore," she suggested. "Or he had better things to do. We've got to stop thinking of that person as Erik. It's the Opera Ghost we're dealing with."

"But why?" I asked in a small voice. "Why isn't he Erik anymore?"

"I don't know," she answered. "I have no idea of how the mind works. I'm not sure whether such things can be caused by a knock on the head or a difficult situation. Erik's the one who'd have answers to those questions. So we'll simply ask him once we've found him and he's willing to talk to us. But the first step is finding him at all. If it turns out to have been a joke afterwards, we'll still be able to laugh about it. At the moment, however, it's best to accept the worst scenario as likely."

"That does make sense," I acknowledged, trying to get used to the idea slowly.

"Let us go then," Meg said, coming to her feet.

"Where?" I said, puzzled. Things were moving a little too quickly for my taste.

"We've got to search for him," she explained. "And we've got to start right now. The longer he remains in that state, the worse it'll be for him… at least that's what I think. So what are you waiting for?"

The truth was that I was still waiting for someone to wake me up from this nightmare, but I had the sneaking suspicion that this wouldn't have been an answer she'd accept. So I let her pull me to my feet as well.

"Where do we start?" I wanted to know.

"I'll go and fetch my mother," Meg replied. "When I talked to Erik, he hardly reacted ot me. The Opera Ghost doesn't seem to think too highly of me. But he respects my mother. If there's one person except you he'll listen to, it's her. So I suggest that her and I search the upper floors of the opera together, and you go down into the cellars."

"All right," I agreed. I was very glad that Meg was with me. She had always been better at organising things than me, and in my present state of mind I was rather useless. There were simply too many thoughts in my head. Yet for Erik's sake, I had to pull myself together. Quickly I slipped his ring on my finger, above my own. Erik had worn them like that for years. Perhaps doing the same would give me strength. I'd certainly need it.


	135. Chapter One Hundred and ThirtyFive

**Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Five**

**September 18th 1892: **_Meg_

I didn't feel too good about leaving Christine alone to go to my mother. Admittedly my friend claimed that she was all right, but anyone could see that it was far from true. Her cheeks were flushed, and despite my efforts there were still traces of tears on her face. I dreaded to think about what rumours would be created if some of the less friendly chorus girls saw her.

Maybe we should have stayed together in one group, yet Christine liked my initial idea much better and didn't listen to anything else I said. Secretly I suspected that she wanted to go on her own because she felt the need to cry again, this time without me seeing it. Of course I wouldn't have cared about it. After all, she was my best friend. If she shed tears when I was around, I did all I could to comfort her. Yet I also sensed that she needed some time alone. The last hour with all its revelations and surprises hadn't been easy for her.

So I left her behind at the door leading down into the cellars and hurried to the stage. I kept throwing anxious glances over my shoulder, for I couldn't shake off the feeling that someone was watching me. It was strange, but not completely unreasonable. Yes, Erik had been at the opera all the time and had fulfilled his duties with care and even pride, so I should be used to the feeling of being watched. Still this was different.

I had got to know him as Erik by now, and we were friends. It was very hard for me to accept that this might no longer be true. He had been so nice when I had talked to him on the journey to my home, and I had had the feeling that it could become a good friendship that would last for a long time. And now he was merely the Opera Ghost again, a shadow without the slightest interest in things such as friendship… and also love?

It was no wonder that Christine had cried. Thinking about it brought tears to my eyes, but I wiped them away impatiently as I walked. I had to be strong. I had to support my friend. After all, she had lost her husband, whereas I had only lost a friend. I couldn't afford to be weak now. That particular thought made me smile grimly. After all those years, I had finally become like my mother.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. If I were like my mother, the Opera Ghost might have listened to me instead of simply vanishing. No, I needed the real Mme.Giry. I could only hope she'd still be on the stage by the time I'd arrive there. If she had already left, I'd have to look for her everywhere, and I wanted to save my energy for the search that really mattered. I sped up even more, till I was almost running.

Fortune was smiling upon me. My mother was indeed still on the stage, and no one was with her, which meant that I didn't have to make up an excuse why I had to talk to her right now.

"Meg," she said, looking up in surprise as I entered the stage. "What are you still doing here? I thought you had already left with Erik."

I merely shook my head. It was as if she were talking about another life, in which another Meg had invited another Erik to lunch with her husband. It all seemed so far away now.

"Yes, I left, but only to fetch Christine," I replied hastily. "Something's wrong with Erik. He…" Quickly I told her the story. Since I was doing it for the second time, it all went very smoothly. I could leave out the first part because my other had been present on the stage, which saved me another few minutes. Yet I had to add Christine and the ring.

When I was finished, I felt completely exhausted. I couldn't remember the last occasion I had talked so much in such a short period of time, at least not about such a serious topic. Fortunately my mother was an understanding and intelligent woman, which meant that I didn't have to repeat more than a few things for her. Moreover, talking to her had the advantage that she believed me right away. She knew I wasn't someone who made jokes about that kind of subject. Of course Christine knew that as well, but the shock seemed to have made her forget it.

There was also something else that made talking to her this easy, something Christine had no idea about and would hopefully never find out: When I had arrived at the opera this morning, I had told my mother a little about what had happened between Christine, Erik and Raoul. I knew that I probably shouldn't have done so, but I couldn't have kept it secret any longer. It had been such a relief to talk to someone who knew them just as well as I did, and my mother wasn't one to pass judgement on others, so I didn't have to be afraid that she'd despise my friend for her decisions.

Anyway, it saved me at least half an hour of additional explanations, which was excellent. I'd have probably passed out with exhaustion if I had uttered one more sentence. While I sank down on the floor next to the chair my mother was sitting on, she seemed to think about everything carefully. She wasn't a person who spoke before she actually had something to say. Several long minutes passed in silence.

"I was afraid something like that could happen one day," she finally remarked pensively.

"You were?" I asked incredulously. "But how could you? I mean, not even Christine suspected anything, and she was with Erik all the time in the last days…"

"She doesn't know him the way I do," she said simply. "There's a difference between getting to know someone as one's friend and as someone one could have a relationship with. Moreover, Christine missed ten years of his life. That cannot be made up by a couple of kisses."

My cheeks grew a little rosy. I knew for certain that more than a few kisses had been exchanged beteen the two of them, but that was one of the details I had left out for my mother, and I wasn't willing to add them now. So I remained silent.

"And even if more happened between them…" she went on, interpreting my silence correctly. "…that doesn't change the situation. Ten years of waiting and hoping, of trying to forget and not being able to do so… I must have been the only one he talked to in that time… the only one he really talked to, I mean, not just a few orders. He was so miserable in those years."

"But he wasn't miserable enough not to follow Christine and her family around and see what they were doing," I reminded her, looking up.

"I have to admit that I didn't know about it before you told me, but I could have guessed it was something like that," she gave back. "Sometimes he left the opera for days, and when he returned, he was almost… cheerful. Of course that never lasted too long…"

"Did he cry at your shoulder?" I wanted to know curiously. If I was honest with myself, I had to admit that I had hardly thought of the Opera Ghost in those years. There had been too much going on in my life and also in Christine's: her wedding, my wedding, her children, my new home. Yet it seemed that my mother hadn't given up the contact with him, even though she had had all those problems with her back. I couldn't help admiring her a little for her strength and loyalty.

She shook her head.

"Erik would have never shown such weakness as to cry in front of me," she replied. "But we talked. Officially we met to discuss what was going on at the opera, but we also talked about ourselves. Erik was in desperate need of someone he could trust, and I was willing to be that someone. So I do think I understand him… at least a little."

"Buw how can you say that you suspected something like that could happen?" I asked, bringing our discussion back to the present. "We don't even know what happened. All we know is that for some reason Erik thinks himself to be the Opera Ghost – the Opera Ghost he was more than ten years ago, before he told Christine who he truly was. And you think you can explain that?"

"Well, I didn't have that much time to think about it, but I do have a theory," my mother said hesitantly. She shifted her position slightly, so that she was closer to me. "What is the difference between Erik and the Opera Ghost he was ten years ago?"

"Erik is a person," I answered, feeling a little stupid for stating the obvious. "Of course the Opera Ghost was a person as well, but he pretended not to be one. He didn't care about other people, with the exception of Christine and you. His only interests were his music and the Opéra Populaire."

"Yes," she agreed, nodding. "In a way, that way a very simple life, for he didn't have to worry about much. And now compare that life to the one he has at the moment, in which he's responsible for the woman he loves, for a godson and for all the other people living in their household. I can't blame him for feeling the urge to break free. This is what I meant when I said I saw it coming."

"I still don't understand it," I admitted. "So Erik wanted to have his old life back because it was easier. But one cannot simply do that. One cannot forget all the unpleasant things and go back to a time when it was better. That's just not the way life works. If I did, everyone would do it like that."

"Erik has always been different," my mother stated. "Still I doubt it was a conscious decision. I think everything simply became too much for him, and he broke down under the pressure. It's just like… Do you remember your uncle Antoine? What did he do every time he couldn't cope with the fact that his wife had died?"

"He started drinking too much, and after a while he fell asleep," I replied, the memory making me shudder. He had never been one of my most pleasant relatives. "But when he woke up, he remembered his worries. Do you think the same will happen to Erik? Will he just wake up after a while and be fine again?" I threw her a hopeful glance.

"I'm not sure about it," she said gravely. "I think Erik will wake up when he wants to wake up. Not a moment sooner."


	136. Chapter One Hundred and ThirtySix

**Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Six**

**September 18th 1892: **???

I couldn't believe I had lost her. In one minute she had still been there, talking to another woman as they had walked down the corridor, and in the next one she was gone, vanished without trace. If only I had been able to follow them more closely!

´Stay behind her all them time. Never lose sight of her.´ My master's instructions had been very clear, but it hadn't been possible to carry them out in the way he had expected me to. There hadn't been many people in the corridors, and the two women would have easily noticed a man walking behind them, changing directions when they did. So I had only been able to watch the Countess from a certain distance, relying on their voices to guide me most of the time. Since the other woman had done most of the talking, I hadn't grown suspicious right away when I hadn't heard the Countess for a while. But then the other woman had come into view again, and the Countess had no longer been with her.

My master would be furious if he found out that I had lost her. Strictly speaking, it had been a flaw in his own plan that had made me lose her, for he had been sure the corridors would be crowded, but of course I'd never be able to use that as an argument to justify myself with. My master didn't make mistakes. His plans were always correct. If they didn't work, it was our own fault, because we hadn't carried them out properly. I had heard that speech a hundred times, and I didn't need to hear it again.

It was a catastrophe. My master had already been angry when we had admitted that the attack on the coach hadn't worked the way he had planned it. But then, it hadn't been a complete failure, which was why I could still walk today. At least there had been someone hurt, even though it hadn't been the right person. Frankly I had no idea who the man had been. Not even my master seemed to know it, but he didn't seem to care, so I didn't care either.

Of course the intention of the attack had been a different one: When the coach had been returned to the stable, we had assumed it would only be used again in the morning, preferrably by the whole family. According to my master, a few serious injuries would have been a nice prelude to the truly important part of his plan.

But it hadn't worked. Moreover, we still didn't know who the mysterious companion of the Countess was. I had been sure that I'd catch a glimpse of his face after the accident. That was why I had waited in a nearby alley and had come running as soon as I had heard the crash. Yet I hadn't predicted that so many people would be there, blocking the man from view. I hadn't been able to make my way through the crowd, and peering over the other people, I had only seen the same back of the man's head that I had seen a thousand times in the last days. It had seemed to mock me.

In the end, I believed that this was the reason why I had been beaten.

´I need to know who he is!´ my master had roared, brandishing the whip in his hand. ´I need to know whether he can be dangerous for the plan.´

Personally, I didn't think so. After all, he hadn't kept us from doing anything yet. But of course I couldn't tell my master what I thought. He didn't value other people's opinions very highly.

He had ordered us to pursue all members of the family today, except for the father, who still seemed to be in Norway. Two of the others had taken the coach and had gone after the girl and the maid. Two more were staying at the house to keep watch over the remaining servants, and I had been told to follow the Countess and the mysterious man. Unfortunately they had not left the house together. I had decided to stay with the woman and follow her. My master had always stressed how important she was.

And now I had lost her. I gulped, trying not to think of what my master would say… or do. I really liked my life, and I didn't want it to end yet. Some people might have argued that it wasn't such a fantastic life, but it was the only one I had.

As I marched up and down the corridor, a thought suddenly hit me. I just had to find her again. If I found her soon, I'd be able to pretend I had never lost her. No one would ever know the truth.

But where could she be? Unlike my master, I had never been inside this building before, and I had no idea where people usually went. The only thing which was clear to me was that they all went _somewhere_. I seemed to be the only person who didn't know where to go. As if to underline this assumption, two girls passed me with fast, purposeful strides. I bowed my head and tried to look as if I belonged here. Apparently it worked, for they didn't even glance at me. My ability to blend in even surprised me every now and then.

"Oh, come on," one of the girls was just saying. "We'll just take a little sip in our dressing room."

"But what about Mme.Giry?" the other girl asked in an anxious voice.

"She's still on the stage. She'll never…" The girls' voices grew fainter and fainter, till I could no longer hear them. But it didn't matter. Listening to them had given me the second good idea within minutes. The stage! Why hadn't I thought of it before? Even I knew that it was an important part of an opera. Surely I'd find the Countess there.

This only left me with one problem: Where _was_ the stage? I made a half-hearted attempt to locate it myself, but the corridors all looked the same to me, and there weren't signs anywhere. After just a few minutes I had no idea where I had come from or whether I was anywhere near the stage. For all I knew, I could have been further away from it than when I had started.

It was no good. I had to ask someone. It was a pity that the girls were no longer there, for I'd have loved to ask them. They hadn't been as pretty as my mistress, but it had been better than nothing. Unfortunately I couldn't wait for another girl to come my way. Sometimes a man had to take what he could get. In my case, that was a man who just strolled down the corridor.

"Excuse me, Monsieur, can you help me?" I asked with a winning smile. I might not have had the best upbringing, but I could pretend it. The man looked at me in confusion for a moment, then he gave me a nod.

"You're late!" he informed me. "All the others were here in the morning. Couldn't get out of bed, could you? Well, you should better learn it, for the work here starts early, hours before the first dancer enters the stage. So don't be late again. Come with me!"

He ended his monologue abruptly and marched away, much more quickly than before. I followed him without another word, sensing that it was the best thing to do. If I was lucky, the man would show me the way to the stage right now. In the worst case possible, I'd have to work here for a couple of hours and would ask one of my new colleagues where the stage was later.

I was indeed lucky, for apparently the man wanted to show me around first. After a few minutes he slowed down, allowing me to walk next to him, and started explaining. I listened attentively, trying to learn as much as I could. After all, who knew how much of the information he gave me I'd still need?

"And this is the stage," my companion finally said. "Well, actually it's over there, but we can't enter it at the moment. It's reserved for the dancers, even though I don't think any of them is still there. Remember that you mustn't disturb the dancers, the singers or the musicians! If you do, you can as well pack your things right away because…"

In that moment he caught sight of a piece of scenery that was lying on the floor. Two men were just adding a fresh layer of paint. I couldn't see anything extraordinary about it, but his eyes narrowed.

"I don't believe it!" he called, walking over to them. "You were supposed to paint it green, just like it used to be. Not black! For Heaven's sake, are you colourblind?"

My instinct told me to get away from the man as quickly as possible. I waited till he had turned his back on me, then I parted two curtains, slid through the gap I had created and found myself standing at the back of the stage.

The Countess was not there, that much I could see right away. I only spotted two people, the blond woman the Countess had been with and an older one. They were engaged in conversation.

"Where shall we start then?" the blond woman was asking. "Christine is down in the cellars, so we don't have to cover that part. Perhaps we should search the dressing rooms first. He could be there." The other woman nodded.

I left quickly, before anyone could see me. The man who had shown me around was still busy yelling, so I passed behind him without problems. I smiled to myself. So the Countess was in the cellars. The man had pointed out a door to me on our way, muttering something about dangers and never going down there if I knew what was good for me. But the Countess was down there. Silly girl. It was high time that someone went after her and offered her protection. My smile widened. I had always had good manners around the ladies.


	137. Chapter One Hundred and ThirtySeven

**Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Seven**

**September 18th 1892: **_Christine_

I wasn't sure how long I had been wandering aimlessly through the corridors under the opera before I realised it would never work like this. After the first few minutes I had lost track of time. I felt as if I had been on my feet for hours, and I still had no idea where Erik was.

Every time I heard a sound, I stopped dead, listening hard… only to notice moments later that I had produced the sound myself by kicking against a stone or hitting the wall with my lantern. Even those little things caused eerie noises in the long passageways. The one time I had not make the sound myself hadn't been very pleasant either. A rat had hurried away from me, squeaking angrily because the light had disturbed it.

I, on the other hand, was glad about the light. It was a small comfort in the face of the overwhelming darkness around me. Of course I had to ignore the strange shadows dancing over the walls like ghosts, but it was far better than walking without a source of light. My eyes were so swollen from crying that even with the help of the lantern I couldn't see very well. Without it, I'd have probably fallen to the floor within minutes.

Reaching a turning, I simply stopped. There was no point in continuing what I had been doing for a while now. I'd never find him like this. Instead, I risked losing my way. What I needed was something like a plan or a system. I had to search corridor after corridor and somehow make sure that I wasn't going in circles.

The problem was that I had never been exactly fascinated with the world under the opera. For me, who had heard countless stories about dreadful accidents happening down here, it had always remained a frightening place, even with the knowledge that it was Erik who lived here. On the rare occasions when I had been here alone, I had gone to his home right away. Other girls might have been tempted to take detours to discover the many secrets of the passageways, but I had never been that adventurous. Most of the time I had relied on my teacher to guide me.

But said teacher wasn't here now. Or was he? That was another problem I was facing: Even if I happened to be at the right spot, I had no guarantee that I'd notice whether Erik was there as well. I knew that there were almost as many hidden passageways as regular ones. Maybe he was watching me at this very moment. Involuntarily I looked over my shoulder, but I couldn't see anyone, which – as I had just realised – didn't mean anything.

Perhaps I should call for him. When I had called for him in my dressing room all those years ago, he had sometimes responded, but it had never been certain whether he'd do it. There had also been occasions when I had called and called, and he hadn't come. Still it was worth a try. I cleared my throat, which was sore from sobbing. I didn't know how long I had stood at the door to the cellars after Meg had left me, doing nothing but crying. It had felt like a long time.

I waited till the sound of me clearing my throat had died away. Then I waited a little more. For some reason, I was afraid of my own voice all of a sudden. Surely it would be very loud in the corridor. It would hurt my ears. But I had to try it. I had to find him.

"Er-Erik!" I called, but it came out as nothing more than a hoarse whisper. My voice sounded scared, like that of a child who was alone in the dark. But then, that was how I felt.

"Erik!" I tried it again, and it sounded marginally louder than before. "Erik!" This time it had been loud enough. I listened into the darkness, but couldn't hear anything. Either he wasn't here, or he was here and didn't feel like acknowledging the fact that I was looking for him. Both things were possible. The Opera Ghost had never been easy to understand.

The Opera Ghost! Suddenly I recalled what Meg had said. Maybe Erik didn't react to his first name at the moment. I had to try another one.

"Opera Ghost?" No, that had not been the right one either. I had never addressed him as Opera Ghost or Phantom. Those were the names the chorus girls and stagehands had for him.

"Angel?" I called uncertainly. The word sounded strange on my lips. It had been such a long time since I had last addressed him in that way. But then, perhaps it was the right name, the name that would make him come to me or at least reveal that he was there. Yet I didn't hear anything except my own excited breathing.

The only thing caused by my action were memories of the time when I had still called him Angel, when he had still been the Angel of Music to me. I always made sure that I controlled these memories carefully, for some of them were rather painful. Yet now, in this moment when I was insecure and helpless, they caught me off-guard, filling my head. I didn't stand a chance.

_"The other girls laughed about me again today," I said in a miserable voice. "They don't believe you really exist…"_

_The Angel took his time with the reply, just like he always did. It gave me the chance to wipe away the tears from my face and blow my nose. Some of the chorus girls had been so horrible to me today that I had arrived to my singing lesson crying._

_Of course the Angel had noticed at once in what a state I had been, even though he couldn't see me. But then, perhaps angels didn't need to see. They could look right into people's hearts. That was the wonderful thing about them: They simply knew such things._

_"But you believe that I exist, don't you?" he asked at last._

_I hastened to nod._

_"Yes, I do," I replied. "I always believed in you, ever since my father told me you'd come and teach me. I waited for you. So it would be stupid not to believe in you, now that you're here." There were so many other things I could have added. I could have told him that he was something like my best friend, that the prospect of hearing his voice made me excited hours before our lessons, that every day without him was dull and empty… But I was afraid of saying all that and making a fool of myself._

_"Very stupid indeed," the Angel agreed. "The other girls are only jealous because you have a private teacher and they don't. And even if they had one as well, it wouldn't make any difference. You have a talent, child, a talent they can only dream of. One day, you'll sing so beautifully that everyone in Paris will adore you. It is your fate to sing like that, and I will help you."_

_I said nothing, merely revelling in his words. The Angel certainly knew how to praise, but he rarely did so, and I wasn't used to it. It made me feel embarrassed, proud and a little anxious, everything at the same time._

_"What if I can't do it?" I asked in a small voice. "What if I'm not good enough?"_

_"You are good enough," he told me firmly. "I can already hear it, even though nobody else can. It is your fate to become the best singer the Parisian stages have ever seen."_

_"But – " I tried to argue again, yet he interrupted me._

_"You've got to trust me, child, and also yourself," he said. "You've got to trust yourself that you know I exist, and you've got to trust me that I know you'll be an excellent singer. Can you do that, Christine?"_

_"Yes," I answered seriously. "Yes, I can."_

My mind snapped back into the present so abruptly that I felt disoriented for a moment. But then I smiled. Erik had done so much for me. Without him, I'd have never had the self-confidence necessary to become a singer. I'd have trusted him with my life, and frankly I still did so.

Now it was my turn to help him. For once, I had to be the strong one, the one who acted instead of waiting for others to do it for me. I would find Erik and I'd help him become normal again.

"Angel!" I called another time, loudly and clearly. And now I did hear something. It was the sound of footsteps coming closer. My heart missed a beat.

"Angel?" I said.

The response consisted of a chuckle. At once I knew something was wrong. The Angel of Music had never chuckled. I held the lantern over my head, only to see a young man walking towards me. His face was dirty, and his clothes old and ragged.

"Angel?" he repeated. "That's the most flattering way I've ever been addressed by a woman. I like it. Thank you very much, Countess." He smiled, revealing ugly, uneven teeth.

I stared at him. This man was not Erik. I didn't know who he was and whether he was planning to do anything to me, but there was a certain sense of foreboding in the air. He couldn't be someone working at the opera, for those people didn't enter the cellars. This only left me with one terrible possibility who he could be: one of the people who were behind the attacks. I didn't wait for him to verify my suspicion.

I spun around, ready to run away as quickly as possible. The man was probably faster than me, but maybe I'd be able to hide somewhere in a corner till he'd be gone. Yet I never got the chance to carry out that plan. As I turned around, the heel of my shoe got caught in the hem of my skirt. Trying to free it, I tumbled sideways and hit the stone wall hard with the side of my head. Pain burst through my head like liquid fire, making me gasp.

My knees gave way, and I mentally prepared myself for landing on the floor, for there was nothing on the smooth wall I could have held onto. Yet I never reached the floor. Strong arms caught me. I smelled a sickening mixture of cheap soap and stale sweat and heard a voice whisper:

"I wonder what my master will say to this… development.".

Then the pain in my head grew too strong, and I sank into darkness.

**Author's note: **I know that in a few seconds' time, you won't like me very much anymore. It's time for my annual holiday in London. I'll be gone till the 6th of March. If you need anything to do in the meantime, I recommend trying to find out who's planning the attacks. You might want to re-read a few chapters that you think important. Good luck!


	138. Chapter One Hundred and ThirtyEight

**Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Eight**

**September 18th 1892: **_Meg_

By the time we were looking around in the twenty-sixth room, I started feeling desperate. It always was the same routine: My mother and I entered the room, and she called for Erik, saying there was an urgent matter she had to discuss with him. She figured that approach had the biggest chances of getting a response. I had agreed when she had explained it to me, but now I wasn't so sure anymore. What if the Opera Ghost simply wasn't in the mood for discussing business matters at the moment? Yet since I didn't have a better idea, I didn't say anything.

While my mother called for him, I did a quick search of the room, just in case Erik was hiding somewhere. That part was even more pointless than what my mother was doing. After all, he was a master of hiding. Unless he had fallen asleep in a corner, which was not very likely, my chances of finding him were virtually non-existent. Yet again, I kept my doubts to myself. I wanted to have at least a tiny part in the search, even if it was a pointless one.

Leaving the room and heading for the next one, I asked:

"Do you think we'll ever find him?".

"I told you," my mother replied. "We'll find him when he wants to be found."

"But when will that be?" I persisted.

She merely shook her head.

"If I knew that, I'd suggest that we go for a cup of tea and wait till that moment. Then we could just sit there without having to worry, and at the right time, Erik would show up. It would be nice, wouldn't it?" She gave me a lopsided smile.

"Very nice," I agreed. "But I doubt it's going to happen like that in reality. So we'll just have to go on searching." Her words had shown me that I just had to accept the situation the way it was, no matter how impatient I felt.

"We don't have a lot of time anymore, though," my mother said pensively after a moment.

"Why?" I wanted to know in surprise. I had assumed we'd simply continue till we had found him. "Do you think Erik's condition will become worse?"

"I have no idea," she answered. "For all we know, it can't become much worse than it already is. No, I was referring to something else. Haven't you paid attention to the time?"

"It's half past one," I answered automatically. We had just passed a grandfather clock in the corridor.

"Exactly," she said. "And what does that tell you?"

"Jean is waiting for Erik and me for over an hour now," I replied, feeling slightly guilty. "But I'm sure he'll understand it once I've explained everything to him."

"Yes, yes," she muttered, apparently growing a little impatient because I couldn't comprehend what she wanted to tell me. I knew that voice only too well. She used it a lot when she was talking to the chorus girls. "He's a wonderful man. But I was thinking of the people at the opera. At the moment, hardly anyone is here. Yet at two o'clock, when the lunch break will be over, that'll change quickly. We won't be able to continue coming into rooms, calling for the Opera Ghost, without being overheard. People are bound to grow suspicious, and you know how fast rumours spread here."

I nodded gloomily. There were few people who knew it as well as I did.

"What do you suggest then?" I asked. "Do you want us to stop searching altogether?"

"We can't do that," she replied. "You promised Christine we'd look for him, so we'll do it. I was just implying that we'll have to have a break, till…"

"Till when?" I argued, coming to a halt in front of the door to the room we had planned to search next. It was a small miracle that we hadn't walked past it without noticing it. "Once everyone is back, we won't have the chance to look around at all. And we won't have the time to do so either. There'll be the final rehearsal, and then we'll have the performance in the evening. In between I'll have to change into my costume and do my make-up, and you'll have all the little chorus girls at your side. Do you really want to wait until after the performance? Think of all the damage the Opera Ghost could have done by then."

I took a deep breath, hoping it would make me help calm down and feel less desperate. I couldn't see a way in which we'd be able to fulfill our normal tasks at the same time as looking for the Opera Ghost. It just wasn't possible.

My mother seemed to agree with my point of view, for she was looking doubtful now, too.

"We'll just have to make the best of the little time we have left," she decided, unlocking the door.

"Little time indeed," a voice behind us remarked all of a sudden. "Which business can be so important that it's worth keeping your daughter away from my table, dearest Antoinette?"

Turning around I found none other than my husband standing in front of us, looking at my mother expectantly.

"Jean!" I exclaimed, pulling him into a brief embrace. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, when neither you nor our guest showed up at our house, I thought it best to come here, in case something had happened," he explained. "So here I am."

"Here you are," I repeated, inwardly shaking my head. There couldn't be many men in Paris who came from the other end of the city, just to make sure everything was all right with their wives. A warm rush of affection spread through my body as I realised how lucky I was. "Something has indeed happened," I went on, forcing myself to remain matter-of-fact. Quickly I told him what he needed to know.

"So you've been looking through all the dressing rooms, one after the other?" he asked when I was finished. My mother and I nodded. "Well, then it's no wonder that I found you this quickly. You're not even on the first floor yet. It's good that I'm here now. You clearly need help."

"That's nice of you, Jean, but I doubt that you can help us much," my mother said, obviously trying to stay friendly despite the criticism. "I think I know what you're about to suggest, but we can't form two groups because the Opera Ghost will neither come to you nor to Meg."

"Groups were not what I had in mind," Jean corrected her. "I'd never let one of you wander around alone anyway. But I think that so far you've had the wrong approach to the subject. Searching all rooms would take far too long, even if the other people wouldn't return that soon. You've got to focus on the rooms where he's likely to appear, the rooms which are important to him, such as… the dressing room in which he used to teach Christine."

I smiled up at him. It was not as if I didn't appreciate his help, but he had obviously forgotten something.

"Jean… I've already been to the room with Christine, and he wasn't there," I informed him softly. "I told you about it just a few minutes ago. Don't you remember?" I tried not to sound too accusing. With all the things that had happened, I couldn't expect him to recall every little detail.

"Of course I remember it," he replied, giving my shoulder a playful little squeeze. "I might be slightly older than you, but I'm not that old yet. I mean the other dressing room in which Erik taught Christine. You once told me that he used to fetch her from her dormitory at night and brought her to a room in which he gave her lessons, before she sang the role of Elissa in ´Hannibal´ and moved to the room with the big mirror. Maybe he's in there." He smiled triumphantly.

My mother and I exchanged startled glances. It was clear that she was thinking the same as I did: How was it possible that Jean had thought of something like that, whereas we, who knew Erik for years, had never considered that possibility? Having a husband who loved the stories about the Opera Ghost had its advantages.

"You're an angel, love," I whispered, kissing his cheek.

Naturally my mother was a little more reserved, but she smiled and said:

"That is a very good idea, Jean. Thank you very much for supporting us.".

"Well, perhaps we should better wait with the praise till we've seen whether I'm right," he suggested, his cheeks redder than usual. He looked slightly uncomfortable. I sensed that he tried not to enjoy the role of the hero too much, lest his idea should turn out to be wrong.

"In that case, we should not waste any more time," my mother declared with her usual resolute manner. She locked the door again and turned on her heel. "I know where the room is. We could just make it there in time."

So we hurried down the corridor, my mother leading the way and Jean and I walking behind her. I seized his hand, wanting him to know that I was glad he was here, even if he was not right.

It took us more than ten minutes to get to the room, which was in a remote corner of the opera. We approached it as quietly as possible. My mother pushed down the door handle gently, and to our surprise the door opened without problems. Jean and I almost tripped over each other's feet in our silent struggle to peer inside.


	139. Chapter One Hundred and ThirtyNine

**Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Nine**

**September 18th 1892: **_the Opera Ghost_

It was one of those completely normal days at the Opéra Populaire. There were no incidents that threatened to disturb the usual order of events, and I liked it that way. If there had to be someone who disturbed the others, I wanted to be that someone myself. Of course it wouldn't be called ´disturbing´ in my case. I regarded it as ´correcting´, for I was the one person at the opera who was allowed to tell everyone else what to do. That knowledge made me smile as I wandered through a corridor.

I had always liked those hours around noon, when everything was quiet and peaceful. I could walk around freely, without the annoyance of some idiotic girl screaming because she had seen me. On the one hand it was good that they showed me their respect, yet on the other hand the chorus girls' screams were anything but melodic, and they hurt my sensitive ears. No, being alone here was definitely preferrable.

It was a pity that the opera couldn't remain in this state. Soon the whole building would overflow with liveliness again. People would run from one room to the other, slamming doors and yelling their lungs out, not caring about the damage they did to their voices. But then, most voices were hardly bearable anyway. I didn't understand how those people could listen to themselves without revulsion or how they could consider themselves singers. The only exception was my dear Christine.

I couldn't help feeling my heart grow a little lighter as I thought of her. Yes, she was different from the other girls. She never shouted or ran around without having a good reason for doing so. I wouldn't have allowed it anyway. More than once I had seen a careless girl trip over something – occasionally an object I had placed there myself – and sprain her ankle, thus being unable to dance for a long time. I didn't think that the chorus was the right place for Christine, but I knew she needed as much theatrical experience as she could get before she could become a singer.

And when it came to her voice… I'd have never allowed her to shout, except if she was in mortal peril. It would have been an unnecessary exercise for her vocal chords. If she wanted to train them, there was more than enough time to do so in my lessons, when I was there to monitor and correct her. Only I knew what was best for her, and she accepted that fact with the same unwavering belief with which she accepted my presence.

Come to think of it, where was she at the moment? Had she gone out to have lunch somewhere with the other girls? I couldn't recall having seen her leave the opera. But then, my memories of this morning were a little hazy. It was almost as if something extraordinary had happened, something that I couldn't quite grasp. I didn't ponder too long on it, though. My memory wasn't always too good, particularly with things I preferred to forget. I told myself that if something had indeed happened, it was better not to remember it.

Still I had to find out where Christine was. I didn't like it when she wandered around alone. It was far too dangerous without me, her protector. All kinds of things could happen to her. She was still so child-like, so naïve. I took my role very seriously. If someone harmed one hair on her head, they'd have me to answer to.

It wasn't very likely that she had left the opera, for she rarely did so. She stayed behind when the other girls went out, and she ate her lunch alone in one of the dressing rooms. Perhaps I should look for her there. But then, a glance on my pocket watch told me it was a little too late for her to be still eating. She usually did so right when the break started.

Could it be… could it be possible that I had forgotten we had scheduled a lesson? Maybe that was what I hadn't been able to recall before. It wasn't like me to forget something that important, but as much as I hated to admit it, I was not as young as I had used to be. Besides, I could afford the benefit of the doubt. It couldn't hurt to have a brief look into the room. If it turned out that I had been wrong and it would be empty, no one would ever know I had been there. After all, it was not as if I had to use the door in order to know what was going on inside.

Quickly I made my way to the nearest secret passageway. The corridor leading to it was deserted. I didn't waste any time, but ran my hand over the wall hastily. It only took me a moment to locate the hidden button and press it. A crack in the seemingly solid wall appeared, which grew wider and wider, till I could squeeze through it.

The way wasn't far. After just a few minutes I stood behind the little mirror and looked into the room. Even though there was no light, I could see that Christine wasn't there. Well, she would have hardly sat in the dark anyway. I felt a strange mixture of relief because I hadn't forgotten anything and anxiety because I didn't know where she was. Perhaps my assumption that she had to be finished with her meal had been wrong, and I'd still find her in one of the dressing rooms.

I was just about to turn around and look for myself, when the door was opened slowly. I stopped in mid-turn, expecting to see Christine any moment. Yet it was not my pupil who entered the room. Instead, it was Mme.Giry who came inside, without as much as knocking first. I frowned. It wasn't like her to behave in such a disrespectful way. True, the door was unlocked most of the time to make the access easier for Christine, and Mme.Giry knew about it, yet up to now, she had never used that knowledge to enter the room herself.

Now she even started calling for me.

"M. le Fantome! Are you here? I need to talk to you. It's urgent!"

Watching her look around expectantly, if only a little exhaustedly, I had a brief internal discussion whether to answer. Of course I'd have rather talked to Christine than to the ballet mistress. But then, if Mme.Giry said something was urgent, it was urgent. She'd have never bothered me with unimportant matters. What did we have the managers for?

"What is it?" I asked after a few moments' silence, having decided that a short conversation with her couldn't be too bad. Besides, maybe she'd be able to tell me where Christine was. "How can I be of your assistance, Madame?"

The ballet mistress looked startled, then positively delighted.

"You wouldn't believe how hard it was to find you," she told me.

"Oh, I do believe that," I gave back pleasantly. "And you shouldn't be surprised about it either. If you want to be sure to find me, there's always the possibility of putting a letter in Box Five."

"Yes, but with you – " she began, only to interrupt herself. "Never mind. The point is that we… that _I_ wouldn't have had time to contact you in that way. The business I have to talk to you about is too urgent to wait."

"And what exactly is that business?" I asked, slowly growing a little more interested in the matter.

Mme.Giry hesitated. If I hadn't known better, I'd have suspected she wasn't sure about the nature of the business herself.

"It concerns Christine," she finally replied.

"Christine?" I repeated. "Has something happened to her? An accident?" I could only hope it was nothing that would keep her from singing. We had made good progress in the last weeks, and I'd hate to stop practicing with her for some petty reason like a broken foot. We couldn't afford such delays.

"No, it's more your… I mean, _her_ mental state of health I'm worried about," she answered. "She didn't seem to feel well today, and… and…" She threw a brief glance over her shoulder.

I saw a small motion out of the corner of my eye and was instantly alert. There had been something peculiar about the way she talked right from the beginning. I had had the impression that she had not been speaking for herself only, and now I knew that I had been right. I had clearly seen the door move an inch or two. This could only have one reason: Someone was standing on the other side, eavesdropping. But I would have none of that.

Sometimes I couldn't help admiring my intelligence, which had made me equip the room not only with the mirror, but also with a secret door right next to it. I used it every now and then to prepare the room before the lessons. Now it would serve a different purpose. Quickly I opened it and stepped into the room. With a few fast strides I crossed it, passing the stunned Mme.Giry.

With one hand I gripped the door, while the other one seized the Punjab Lasso under my cloak and took it out.

"Let us find out who's here!" I called, pulling at the door. Within a moment, the noose had wrapped itself around an inviting neck.


	140. Chapter One Hundred and Forty

**Chapter One Hundred and Forty**

**September 18th 1892: **_Meg_

I felt as if I were sitting in the audience of a play. I could see and hear everything, but was unable to act myself. My whole body seemed paralysed with shock. I could only watch, watch the door being opened all of a sudden, watch Erik emerge from the room, brandishing the Punjab Lasso… and watch my husband's neck being caught in the noose. And I could listen, listen to Erik's triumphant cry, listen to Jean's panting and gasping… and listen to someone screaming. It took me a moment to realise that the someone was me.

It was only when I was pushed aside and nearly fell that I woke up from my stupor. Still I couldn't help noticing that if it had indeed been a play, the scene I witnessed now would have made the audience gasp. Pressed against the wall of the corridor, I saw that my mother had thrown herself against Erik, or rather, the Opera Ghost, with all her weight. Since she had stood behind him, her attack had taken him completely by surprise, and she had knocked him over.

It truly was a scene worth remembering: My mother was lying on top of the Opera Ghost, who was desperately trying to turn around and face her. While they both struggled, Jean was lying under them, making feeble attempts to get out. Under different circumstances it would have been very amusing to watch them, yet at the moment I could only think about whom to help first.

I realised quickly how difficult it would be to get Jen out from under the two other persons. Yet if I helped my mother first, the Opera Ghost would stand up as well and threaten us again. And what would he threaten us with? As I saw his hands in the air, everything fell into place. They were empty. He wasn't holding the rope anymore.

Quickly and quietly I got down on my knees and crept to the untidy pile of people. It turned out that I didn't have to be quiet at all, for the others made more than enough noise to cover my own sounds.

"Let him go!" my mother commanded.

"Get off me!" the Opera Ghost yelled.

My poor husband could only pant, since there were two people pressing down onto his ribcage.

Jean was the only one who saw me coming. He breathed something that could have been my name. His face was scarlet. The noose was still around his neck, but it hung loosely. My mother's attack had made the Opera Ghost lose the rope. It had to be somewhere between them, and it was my task to find it. If someone changed their position, looked for something to hold onto and gripped the rope, it could be my husband's death. More than once I had seen how quickly it worked.

I had to remove the noose first. But how was I supposed to do so without the Opera Ghost noticing me? I decided that I just had to take the risk. Taking a deep breath, I seized the part of the rope between the noose and the spot where it vanished between the bodies and tugged at it to create a little more freedom for moving. Then I could finally pull the noose over Jean's head. He threw me a grateful glance.

Yet apparently the Opera Ghost had noticed the motion of the rope under him after all, for he gave up his attempt to turn around to my mother and faced me instead, his eyes narrowed. I gasped, for he looked truly menacing, even though he was lying on the floor. Yet I didn't let go of the noose, telling myself that as long as I held it, he couldn't use it on someone else.

Fortunately my mother realised what was going on just a moment later, probably because the men lying under her had stopped struggling. She scrambled to her feet, smoothing out her skirt, and miraculously she looked as immaculate as ever. No one who hadn't seen it would have believed that she had been fighting the most dangerous man at the opera a minute before.

"Keep the noose, Meg," she instructed me. She did sound a little breathless. I nodded.

Now that my mother's weight had vanished, the Opera Ghost stood up as well. At last I could help Jean to his feet. He was swaying slightly, as if he still felt dizzy, but apart from that, he seemed to be all right.

"You know that I could have my lasso back in seconds if I wanted to," the Opera Ghost stated. "But I don't attack little girls. It wouldn't be… dignified," he added delicately, looking at my mother pointedly, but she merely shrugged. She seemed rather pleased with herself.

"But you think it dignified to attack innocent men, just because they're at the wrong place at the wrong time?" I asked, my voice a little shrill. It was only now, with the immediate danger gone, that I realised what could have happened. I could have lost Jean. I glanced up at him in worry, but saw that the lasso had only left a faint red line at his neck. The Opera Ghost had not had time to pull the rope tight before my mother had pounced on him from behind.

"Innocent men don't crouch behind doors, eavesdropping on other people's conversations," the Opera Ghost replied firmly. "Who is he, anyway?"

"He's one of the patrons," my mother answered, before I could do it. She threw me a warning glance, and I understood her at once: It was best not to confuse him with long explanations. The more we talked about such things, the longer it would take us to reach the core of the problem.

"One of the patrons?" he repeated, looking at Jean with a frown on his face. "I've never seen him here before… Well, he must be new. If it was for the managers, we'd have a new patron every day. Who cares whether they're interested in the arts, as long as they have enough money?"

I couldn't help thinking that he was talking to himself rather than to us. But then, the Opera Ghost had probably done this a lot, given the fact that he hadn't had many people to talk to.

While we waited for him to stop speaking, Janes reached up to his neck and traced the red line with his finger, wincing softly. It seemed to be more painful than it looked. The sound apparently reminded the Opera Ghost that he was not alone.

"So…" he said, making a step towards my husband and me. "What did M.Patron do outside the room then? And why did he have you with him?"

"I can speak for myself, Monsieur," Jean gave back indignantly, straightening up to his full height. He wasn't used to being overlooked. "And to your information, I was waiting for Mme.Giry, and so was her daughter. We wanted to talk to her. We were not at all interested in her conversation with you."

I held my breath as I watched the Opera Ghost. Had the story Jean had told him been good enough? Apparently that was not the case.

"Liar," he said matter-of-factly. "I saw the way Mme.Giry acted in the room. She knew you were there. If she hadn't know it, she'd have closed the door behind her for a start. What did you hope to find out?"

"Nothing," my husband replied, his voice shaking ever so slightly. "Honestly… nothing…"

The Opera Ghost made a dismissive gesture with his hand, as if to indicate that talking to us wasn't worth the effort. I dared rejoice inwardly. Maybe he wouldn't pursue the subject any further, even though he didn't believe us. Yet the moment I let my guard down, he snatched the lasso out of my hand.

"Thank you very much, Mademoiselle," he muttered with an unpleasant smirk. "And now I'll find out the truth."

With these words he turned around and approached my mother. Yet I was faster than him. By the time he reached her, I was already standing in front of her.

"You won't touch her!" I called, my voice breaking. "You'll have to kill me first!" I could only hope I sounded braver than I felt, with my body trembling from head to toe. My heart was racing, and I was sick with fear, but there was only one thought in my head: I had to protect my mother, come what may.

"How very… heroic of you," he remarked. "And of you," he added, as my husband rushed to my side. "But I have to tell you that I'm not planning to kill Mme.Giry. She's one of the few sensible people at the opera. And you, girl, are a good dancer. I'd hate to rob the corps de ballet of your talent. And you…" He gestured at Jean. "… I don't care enough about you to kill you. It could have happened today, but it didn't, so I suggest you count your blessings, while Mme.Giry tells me what has been going on."

Throwing a glance over my shoulder, I saw the determined expression on my mother's face and knew she thought that the time for the truth had come.

"Well, Erik," she began, pointedly using his first name. Then she told him what we believed had happened this morning and why we believed it had happened. Jean and I nodded every now and then.

The Opera Ghost's eyes grew wide. For a moment I thought he at least considered believing us. Then he burst into laughter.

"Oh Mme.Giry," he said, giggling. "Have you invented this as a bed-time story for the chorus girls? Why don't you tell it to them instead of bothering me with it? I'm sure they'll love it. The Opera Ghost secretly married to Christine Daaé and having lost his memory!" He turned around and walked away. We were too shocked to hold him back.

For minutes, his laughter was the only sound that echoed through the corridors. Then Jean asked the crucial question.

"And what will we do now?"


	141. Chapter One Hundred and FortyOne

**Chapter One Hundred and Forty-One**

**September 18th 1892: **_Meg_

Neither my mother nor I knew an answer to the question. We all looked at each other, and I sensed that Jean and she were feeling the same hopelessness I felt. We had tried both a lie and the truth, and nothing had had any success. Slowly we started walking. The direction didn't matter. It was just too hard to stand in front of the room that had been our last hope, knowing that we had indeed found the Opera Ghost, only to ruin everything. I could have kicked myself. Why had we spoken so little about what we'd tell him?

"At least we managed to find him, thanks to you, Jean," my mother said, breaking the silence. She gave him a small smile.

He didn't return it.

"What was the use of finding him if we couldn't make him listen to us?" he wanted to know. "And he didn't listen to us because we had infuriated him. It's all my fault. If I hadn't leaned against the door, he wouldn't have noticed Meg and me. I'm sure that he'd have eventually listened to you, Antoinette, if you had been alone with him."

"It's not your fault, but mine," my mother corrected him. "If I had come up with a better excuse why I had come to see him, instead of stammering like a little chorus girl on her first day at the opera, he wouldn't have looked at the door at all. Perhaps I shouldn't have told him the truth either. I should have known he wouldn't believe me. I just talked too much because I felt that he wasn't listening properly. You did it correctly, Meg. You only said what was necessary…"

"…because I was too much of a coward to say more," I finished her sentence bitterly. "Maybe he'd have believed us if I had supported you more. Maybe – "

"How can you call yourself a coward?" my husband interrupted me. "You were so brave. You saved my life… and so did you!" he added, nodding at my mother. "This proves that you've done at least one thing right: You saved me."

"And you did one thing right by finding the Opera Ghost in the first place," I reminded him. "Without you, we'd have probably wandered through the opera for hours without as much as seeing him."

Silence followed my words as we all took in what he had told each other. In a strange way, it was comforting to know that the others felt just as guilty as I did, for it took some of the weight from my shoulders. Yet the hopelessness remained. What was there left for us to do? At least we had had a plan before, even though if hadn't been a very good plan. But now… even if we found the Opera Ghost a second time, I couldn't think of anything that would make him believe us.

"I think – " I started, only to be interrupted by a scream. We stopped dead, looking into the direction it had come from. A girl was running towards us, followed by another girl.

"Give it back!" the second girl yelled, trying to grab the first one her by her long hair. "That's my comb, and I need it. You can have it later!"

"But I need it first! I – "

At this point, the girls reached us. The first one, who had been looking over her shoulder at her friend, nearly collided with Jean, who had been walking at the front of our little group.

"Oooh," the girl said, taking in his handsome appearance and batting her eyelashes stupidly. "I'm so sorry, Monsieur. I didn't realise someone was here, or I'd have never run that quickly… although I certainly wouldn't mind being caught in your strong arms." She beamed at him, and I felt the sudden wish to strangle her. "I'm Janelle. What's your name?"

"His name is Jean Tavoire, and he is my son-in-law," my mother stated coldly. Once more, she had been faster than me. "If you had spent the two weeks since you've come here listening to what people tell you instead of looking after every more or less handsome man you see, you'd know that."

"Mme.Giry!" the girl exclaimed, staring at my mother as if she had just appeared out of thin air. "I… I didn't see you…"

"Undoubtedly," my mother said.

I walked up to Jean and took his hand. He looked at me in gratitude. He was a successful business man, but in the face of such an amount of female charms, he just didn't know what to do. He had been just the same when I had fist met him.

"Why don't you go to your dressing room now?" I suggested sweetly, seeing that the girl still hadn't moved. "And do give that comb back. If you need one, there's always the possibility of buying one. They're not that expensive. Believe it or not, even without a rich husband, you'll be able to afford one." Jean's shoulders shook suspiciously, and I knew that he was holding back laughter.

"O-of course," Janelle muttered, turning around. "Marie! Here's – " But her friend had already left, after taking one look at my mother. Janelle shrugged and hurried away.

If nothing else, this little scene had shown us one thing: The lunch break was over, and everyone was returning to the opera. We couldn't go on with our search, even if we had known whom or what to look for.

"Well, that was… interesting," Jean remarked with a chuckle. "But how do we go on?"

"We have to go now," my mother replied. "The last rehearsal starts at three o'clock."

"Couldn't we just… not go?" I suggested hesitantly, already guessing what the answer would be.

Predictably, she looked at me as if I had gone mad.

"Of course not," she answered, shaking her head about such an absurd idea. "People would notice it at once. A rehearsal without the ballet mistress and the most important dancer… impossible. Besides, what would you do if you were free to go?"

"I… I don't know," I admitted. "But there has to be something we can do. We cannot just go on as if nothing had happened."

"I know what you mean," my mother assured me gently. "But going on with our usual duties is exactly what we've got to do now. There is no other possibility for us."

"She's right," Jean added. "And there are so many stories about the Opera Ghost disturbing rehearsals or attending performances. Maybe he'll show up later and – "

"And what?" I asked miserably. "You're forgetting that this is no longer about finding him, but about waking him up from that dreadful state of mind. We still have no idea how to do that."

Instead of giving a verbal reply, my husband leaned down to me and kissed my forehead softly.

"We'll find a way," he whispered. "Somehow, we'll find a way."

In that moment I was inclined to believe him. I looked up into his eyes, which were shining with affection, and felt my heart leap in my chest. If there was one thing that could drive all negative thoughts out of my head, it was love.

Love…

"I think only Christine can make him wake up," I said pensively. "Perhaps she'll meet him in the cellars. I could imagine that he went down there after he was finished laughing at us. And if he sees her, and she looks at him like this…"

"…he'd be a fool not to wake up," Jean declared. "A beautiful woman – though not as beautiful as you, of course – looking at him with eyes full of love… yes, I also think it could work. But you do realise what this means, don't you?"

"I hope it means that Erik will become normal again," I replied. "What else are we doing this for?"

"Of course, but I was talking about what it means for us, in this very moment," Jean explained. "It means that we don't have to continue our search, that we don't have to try and find a solution."

"So you want to give up?" I asked slowly. I couldn't believe he was suggesting that, after all we had done.

"I wouldn't call it ´giving up´," he corrected me gently. "We're handing over the task to the person who can do it best."

"Jean's right," my mother said. "We've done all we can. Apparently the Opera Ghost isn't able to listen to reason at the moment, and that's the only approach I can try. Christine has many more things she can do. Perhaps he'll be more… responsive to them…" She turned her head away from us quickly, but I could have sworn that I had seen her blush slightly. My cheeks grew rosy as well, for the thought of Christine applying those methods was rather strange, as if I were intruding on her privacy.

Looking up at Jean, I saw that he had blushed as well, but I also noticed that our embrace had become rather tighter than before. There was a certain sparkle in his eyes which I only knew too well.

"How far is it to your dressing room?" he asked conversationally, but he couldn't fool me. I knew what he was up to.

"Down this corridor and round the corner," I replied. The strange feeling in my belly had turned into something far more pleasant. "It's not far."

"Then I suggest you go there," my mother remarked, making both of us jump. I had almost forgotten that she was there. "It's only a matter of time till the next group of chorus girls will march through this corridor, and although I'm sure that finding you in such a situation would be an excellent reminder of who Jean belongs to, it would be a little… inappropriate."

By now, our faces had turned scarlet. We weren't used to discussing such things.

"Of course," Jean and I muttered like two obedient children and hurried away, giggling uncontrollably. We truly deserved a little pleasure after all the worries we had had.

"I'm certain that Christine and Erik are already celebrating their reunion," Jean whispered. "So why shouldn't we have a little celebration ourselves?"

I nodded.

"We're celebrating our love," I told him.


	142. Chapter One Hundred and FortyTwo

**Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Two**

**September 18th 1892: **_Jacqueline_

It was only on our way back that I had a little time for thinking. Antoinette had kept me busy all day. Most of the time I had spent at the back of the room her teacher used as classroom. Even though I hadn't taken part in the lessons, of course, letting my mind drift off for more than a few moments had been impossible. I knew Antoinette's habit of asking me about every little detail of what she had learned on the way home, and I didn't want to make a fool of myself by admitting I hadn't paid attention.

I had used the lunch break to fetch one of the girl's dresses from the seamstress, and since Antoinette had decided to accompany me, I hadn't had time for myself then either. Yet now I finally got my chance. Mme.Tadoux had played a song on the piano in the last few minutes before we had left, and the girl had been fascinated. It seemed that M.Erik's brief introduction to the world of music had truly made a difference in her life. She was still humming the song under her breath, which fortunately rendered her unable to speak.

It was not as if I didn't enjoy talking to Antoinette. If talking to children annoyed me, I'd have certainly chosen the wrong occupation. I knew that some people found the girl's enthusiasm for everything exhausting, but I was used to it. After all, I knew her almost since her birth. Yet today there were just so many things on my mind, and I felt as if my head would explode if I didn't think about them soon.

I knew so much about what was happening in the de Chagny household. I knew who was in love with whom and who was sleeping with whom. I knew so many secrets about the family that if I decided to work somewhere else one day, they'd probably have to shoot me to make sure I didn't talk. A person who liked gossip much more than I did would have regarded all those secrets as a godsend, but I was getting more and more troubled by them.

Everyone seemed to find it wonderful that they had me to confine in, but none of them thought about the fact that I didn't have anyone to talk to. The children were too young to understand it. So was my sister. Besides, she did love gossip, and I didn't want to risk becoming the source of even more rumours at the opera. Larisse was a nice woman, but I couldn't have talked to her either, for I knew how rigid her morals were. I'd have rather cut off my tongue than talked about it to Jacques, who'd have told everything to his beloved master right away, and I didn't know Gabriel well enough to decide whether he was trustworthy. I was all alone.

Well, at least I could think about it now. For some reason, it was not the last night and the revelation in which bed M.Erik slept that was at the front of my mind, but tonight. I couldn't help feeling that I was a little responsible for the outcome of the situation this morning. If I had held Antoinette back when she had asked M.Erik all those questions about his face, he probably wouldn't have decided that he had to talk to the children about the mask. The girl asked so many questions every day. Perhaps I should have tried to distract her in some way, and she'd have forgotten it.

Yet even while I thought, I knew that there wouldn't have been any point in trying to distract her. It was true that Antoinette always had many questions, but I had learned to tell whch ones she really wanted the answers to and which ones she merely asked as a pastime. She wanted to find out the secrets of M.Erik's mask, and if I had distracted her, she'd have started with the same topic on the next occasion.

What was truly troubling me was the fact that a part of me was just as curious as the girl about what lay beneath the mask. I had often thought about it in the years since I had got to know my other master. But then, I couldn't afford being as curious as a child. After all, I was dependent on M.Erik. I'd still have to work for him, even if his face would come to haunt me at night-time.

Haunt me… I shook my head slightly. I was aware that the stories my sister told me whenever she had the chance to do so had influenced me. Yet I could truly recall a story of some people who had seen his face and had had nightmares afterwards. Normally I wasn't one to take rumours and stories for facts, but in this special case, my anxiety was making me more responsive than usual.

I liked M.Erik. He was friendly, even to us servants, and he had never treated me badly, even when he had been in a very foul mood. I didn't want my feelings for him to change, just because I had seen his face. It would make working for him even harder than it already was. Up to now, I had always been able to tell myself that I was at least helping someone nice, someone who needed my assistence. Ever since my childhood I had enjoyed being needed, no matter by whom. Yet now I had the suspicion that my urge to help others could be my undoing.

I had even considered going out in the evening, so that I wouldn't be present at M.Erik's revelations. But then, what should I have told Madame? My tasks didn't end until both children were sleeping, and even afterwards I usually stayed with them, in case one of them had a nightmare. I couldn't just leave the house without giving a very good explanation. Besides, where should I have gone? I didn't have an friends, except for my sister, and she'd have a performance in the evening. There was no way in which I could get out of this.

Vaguely I wondered what the Comte would say if he found out that his children had been exposed to such a sight. He'd probably be furious and demand an explanation from his wife… and maybe even from me. After all, I was responsible for the children and had to make sure nothing happened to them. Did seeing an ugly man count as ´something happening´? It probably did. But then, there was nothing I could do to keep them from seeing it if M.Erik should decide to show himself to them. He had sounded very determined. I sensed that he had decided to let them see it, and that was what he'd do.

From what I knew about my other master, he'd probably enjoy the idea of doing something the Comte disapproved of. Besides, by the time the Comte returned, it would have already happened. Maybe I should at least tell him, just like I had told – My thoughts were interrupted by an annoyed voice.

"Aren't you listening, Jacqueline?"

"Of course I'm listening," I replied hastily, looking at Antoinette. "I was just…" My gaze fell upon the piece of clothing over my arm. "…thinking about how pretty you'll look in your new dress," I finished, knowing that this was a good way of distracting the girl from finding out that I had no idea what she had been talking about in the last minutes. I hadn't even noticed that she had stopped humming and started speaking.

"Yes, I'll be very pretty in it," she agreed at once, smiling and running a hand over the soft fabric. "I'd like to wear it tonight. Do you think Maman will allow it?"

"Tonight?" I repeated, frowning. "But we're not going out tonight. Why should you wear a different dress from the one you've been wearing all day? It's not dirty, is it?"

Antoinette shook her head, making the dark curls fly.

"I want to be pretty for afterwards," she explained. "Uncle Erik will tell us about his face. It will be a special occasion, won't it? And Maman says that on special occasions one has to wear special clothes."

"Oh," I made, as realisation dawned on me. It was true that Madame said such things, but she surely didn't have that kind of occasion in mind. "Well, perhaps it would make Uncle Erik feel self-conscious if you wore your new dress."

"I see," she muttered. "Do you mean he'd feel bad because he doesn't have a new dress as well, but only an old mask?"

"Something like that, yes," I answered, holding back a chuckle. The image of M.Erik wearing a pretty new dress was very amusing and perhaps the only positive thing that had come from all the time I had spent thinking. "A new dress won't be necessary," I told Antoinette. "You look lovely in the one you're wearing at the moment." She nodded, just as we reached the de Chagny estate.

We were passing the hedge just behind the fence when I saw it move slightly. I looked at it again, but it remained motionless. Quickly I glanced into the other direction and made Antoinette speed up. Surely it had only been a bird. Still I breathed a sigh of relief as we closed the entrance door behind us. In here, nothing could happen to us. After all, we had M.Erik for our protection.


	143. Chapter One Hundred and FortyThree

**Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Three**

**September 18th 1892: **_Christine_

The grandfather clock in the corner sounded much louder than usual today. I could feel every chime echo in my head. One – two – three – four… It took me a moment to realise that there was no clock. The sounds I heard were in fact caused by a pounding headache. Gingerly I brought my hand to my temple and moved it upwards. It encountered a big bump that was throbbing painfully. I inhaled sharply and took my hand away, afraid of hurting myself even more.

Slowly, inch by inch, I straighened up into a sitting position. My head didn't seem to like motion too much at the moment, for it made silver stars explode behind my eyes. Gasping, I waited till the pain had subsided, then I tried taking in my surroundings. I started with the things directly in front of me, for seeing them didn't involve turning my head.

I was in a small room. As far as I could tell, it didn't have any windows. At least there was no light coming from anywhere, except for a lamp standing on the floor in front of me. There was little else in the room, only two chairs and a few empty sets of shelves. I could only guess that the room was normally used to store things. It reminded me of similar places at the opera, although those rooms would have never been empty. No, I was fairly certain that I no longer was at the opera.

But where was I? And how had I come to be here? Ignoring the angry protest of my head, I rummaged in my memory, dragging out bits and pieces and throwing them onto the floor for me to examine. _Erik and I were sitting on a bench in the park, taking about temptation…_ No, that had definitely not happened today, for there were other memories about him and me, more recent ones. _Erik was singing for us, and there were tears in my heart… Erik and I were kissing… Erik was lying in his coffin, and I was joining him… Erik and I were making love… Erik and I were lying in bed together…_

I smiled reminiscently about the amount of happy memories I had managed to collect in such a short time. But there were more, older ones, and I couldn't understand why they had resurfaced now. _The Angel of Music was teaching me, and I was singing an aria for him… I had just sung on stage, and the Angel praised me… The Angel and I were talking about what it was like in Heaven… Meg was sitting in the coach, telling me that something had happened to Erik…_

Where had that memory come from? It didn't belong to the others. Yet somehow I knew that it was important. But why? I thought hard. And then, quite suddenly, all the pieces were brought together to form a picture I could understand. Of course! I had gone to find Erik, and there had been that man in the cellars… I jumped slightly, groaning in pain. Yet it didn't keep me from turning my head left and right to make sure the man wasn't here. Fortunately I was alone. There was no place in the small room where a person could have hidden.

I sighed in relief. At least I didn't have to be afraid of being attacked again. But then, he hadn't attacked me at all, had he? I had fallen, and he had caught me and apparently brought me here… wherever that was. I tried to guess how much time had passed since I had fainted, but it was difficult. Since the room didn't have windows, I couldn't even tell whether it was already dark outside. I willed my head to find out how long I had been unconscious, but the only thing it said clearly was that it had done enough thinking for the moment and needed a rest.

The throbbing grew stronger and stronger, till I had to close my eyes, for even keeping them open hurt. ´Just a few minutes´, I told myself. ´Then I'll find out how – ´ I had fallen asleep before I could finish the sentence.

When I woke up for the second time, the lamp was still burning. I blinked, noticing the light didn't hurt my eyes anymore. There was something standing next to the lamp on the floor, a glass of water and a slice of bread on a dirty tin plate. My first impulse was panic. Someone had been in the room without me noticing it. The mere though was enough to make my heart beat speed up. Quickly I ran my hands over my skirts, but they were still covering my legs the way they had done when I had fallen asleep. So nothing had happened.

I had always been a cautious person. Under normal circumstances I'd have never accepted food or drink the origin of which I didn't know. Yet these were anything but normal circumstances. I was locked in a room in an unknown house, and these were the only things I'd get. The last time I had eaten something had been at breakfast, and my stomach was rumbling. The thirst was even worse.

Slowly I stretched out a hand and seized the glass. My fingers were shaking as I brought it to my mouth and took a long gulp, too thirsty to be careful. The effect was instant: The water seemed to spread through my body like a soothing salve. Even the pounding in my head was reduced to a more or less bearable level. Growing more courageous, I tried a bite of bread. It was stale, but at least it made my rebellious stomach calm down.

"Why have you brought her here?"

I nearly choked on a few crumbs as I heard a male voice coming from my left. Had someone entered the room, and I hadn't seen it? Turning my head I realised that I had been sitting next to the door all the time. It stood slightly ajar, and I could only guess that the perosn who had brought me bread and water had left it open, for whatever reason. Taking another sip of water to get rid of the crumbs, which still threatened to make me cough, I leaned closer to the door, listening hard.

"I've told you before," a man replied. He sounded younger than the one who had asked the question, and I decided that it was the man who had abducted me, although I couldn't be sure from hearing the voice alone. "But if you insist, I'll tell you again, Victor. I met… I mean, I followed the Countess into the cellars of the opera. I've no idea what she wanted there. Well, when she saw me, she tried to run away, but hit her head and passed out. So I took her with me. It was so easy. I thought Master would be pleased…"

"But he wasn't," the man called Victor said sharply. "He threw you out of his room."

"Only because he wanted to be alone to think about everything," the younger man interjected. "Who knows – maybe he'll come out and praise me for having done well."

Victor snorted.

"It wouldn't be the first time Master does something no one understands," he muttered. "Sometimes I think he's become a little…" The next part of the sentence was spoken in such a low voice that I couldn't understand it. Yet I knew it had been something rude when the young man gasped in shock.

"Don't you dare say that here, with everyone around!" he hissed. "Or do you want to carry your limbs home with you in a handkerchief? No, let's talk about something else, something less dangerous. What do you make of… this? It fell out of the pocket of the Comtess' coat when I brought her into the room. Well, you know I can't read too well…" I heard the rustling of something that probably was a piece of paper and held my breath. My coat had been hanging on the coat rack till I had grabbed it this morning, and I couldn't recall having put anything into the pocket.

"_Dear Madame,_" Victor read aloud. "_Please believe me that I don't mean to intrude on your privacy. Still I couldn't help noticing that our guest, M.Erik, does not sleep in his bed this night, but in yours. It was rather obvious from the kinds of sounds you were making when I walked down the corridor a few minutes ago. Of course I am in no position to tell you what to do, but I'd like to ask you to be a little more discreet in the future. One can never know who's listening. Jacqueline_"

The two men burst into laughter, whereas I blushed deeply. Jacqueline had heard us last night? We had been so loud that she had known what we had been doing? It was so embarrassing. Yet it was even worse that those men knew about it now, too. What would they do with this knowledge? An icy shiver ran down my spine.

"So the Countess spreads her legs for someone else than her dear husband?" Victor asked, chuckling. "I'd have never believed it. She doesn't look like that kind of woman. Still… I wonder whether she'd mind if I came to visit her as well. It's been a while since I've been with a woman, you know…"

"No!" the younger man snarled. "You know the order: No one is to touch me."

"But what Master doesn't know can't hurt him," Victor argued. "I won't leave any traces. He'll never find out – "

"I'll never find out _what_?" A voice interrupted him, silencing both men at once. "I told you she mustn't be harmed… yet." He chuckled, an eerie sound that made the lump in my throat swell. I sensed that this man was a hundred times more dangerous that Victor. Yet it were his next words that made me give a small cry of panic. "I don't have any use for her. We have to get rid of her."


	144. Chapter One Hundred and FortyFour

**Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Four**

**September 18th 1892: **_Christine_

"Get rid of her?" the young man echoed, sounding surprised. His words drowned my cry. "But surely you don't mean – "

"You know perfectly well what I mean," the man whom the others had referred to as Master before interrupted him impatiently. "And don't act as if you hadn't done it before. Now hurry up a little! It's nearly evening, and you all know what will happen tonight."

The men murmured something in agreement, but I couldn't make out the words. I didn't care either. What did it matter if I heard their plan if they'd murder me anyway? I wouldn't be able to help anyone. Panic spread through my body, turning my breath into gasps. What could I do to save myself? As I had already noticed before, there was no place to hide in the room. And even if there had been… What would have been the point in hiding if they knew I was there? They'd surely find me.

Perhaps I could pull open the door and run away. But then, I had no idea how many people were standing outside. For all I knew, there could be a dozen men armed with pistols and knives. They'd never let me pass without a fight, and fighting was a topic I didn't know the first thing about. I had been brought up to believe that women didn't fight. They had men to do it for them, men who protected them.

But where were those men for me now? Raoul was somewhere in Oslo, a city miles and miles away from here. Maybe he was just talking to his business partners or having dinner in a nice restaurant. Did he think of me at all? Of course he did. He thought of me all the time. But he had no idea what was happening to me. He was probably imagining me at home with the children, not locked up somewhere with criminals.

Or perhaps he imagined me with Erik. I realised with a start how much I must have hurt him. I had been so selfish, putting my own happiness above everyone else's. Was this the way a woman of twenty-eight years should behave? No! My father would have been deeply ashamed if he had known that his daughter was carelessly playing with the hearts of two men.

I had hurt Erik, too. I had kissed him, made love to him, even agreed to be his wife for a few days. I had raised his hopes again and again, while in truth I wasn't sure about my own feelings. And those were just a few of my mistakes. At the moment I felt as if I hadn't done anything right in my life. And now it was too late for it.

I didn't get up from the floor when the door was opened a few moments later. I couldn't have managed to run away, so what was the point in trying it? I felt as if I were a hundred years old and very, very tired. Even lifting my head seemed too exhausting. I only did it when a pair of legs came to a halt directly in front of me. I looked up into the face of the man I had met in the corridor below the opera. So I had been right about that. Yet it didn't matter anymore.

"Oh… you're awake," the man said. He sounded as though he didn't like that fact too much. "Well then…"

"I won't fight," I told him calmly.

"I… I… erm, didn't expect you to," he gave back. I noticed that he hadn't been stammering when he had been talking to the other men. Could it be possible that I was making him nervous? What a strange irony! A victim making her murderer nervous…

"Just do it then," I encouraged him. I was no longer afraid. My state was beyond fear, beyond panic and beyond the pointless hope that someone would rescue me. There was nothing I could do, and I accepted it.

"Well then…" the man said again. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pistol. It was shiny and new and didn't seem to fit to the man or the room at all. Thinking about the pistol was completely inappropriate, but it was better than thinking about what was to come.

The man lifted his hand with the pistol in it, and a moment later I felt pain spread through my head like liquid fire. The images of my children swam before my eyes. Then the world went black.

_Raoul_

I glanced at my pocket watch for the third time in the last fifteen minutes, giving a sigh. I couldn't make up my mind whether time was moving too quickly or too slowly. On the one hand it was too slow, for the hands on my watch had hardly moved since the last time I had had a look at them. Yet on the other hand it was too fast, for it was nearly getting dark, and the coach still hadn't reached Paris.

I was about to stuff the watch back into my pocket when I thought better of it and placed it on my thigh instead. At least I'd save myself the effort of pulling it out yet again in a few minutes' time. I held the watch to my ear, thinking that perhaps I had forgotten to wind it, but I could hear a soft, constant ticking sound. So it was working. It was just time which wasn't moving properly.

Sighing again, I put the watch on my leg again and leaned forward in my seat to talk to the coachman.

"Can't we go faster?" I asked.

"We could, but if we did, the horses would grow exhausted very quickly," the coachman replied. "We'd either need new ones or let these ones have a good long break. Yet since you insisted on having the breaks as short as possible, we have to make do with the energy we have."

Of course I understood the hidden accusation. I knew that the coachman would have preferred finding a place to stay for the night and go on in the morning. I didn't blame him. If I had been him, I'd have probably wanted the same. But then, he didn't care in which city he was, as long as somebody paid him for being there. I, on the other hand, was desperate to get home as soon as possible.

"All right, all right," I said. "Do what you can. How long will it be till we'll reach Paris?"

The coachman shrugged.

"It's hard to guess, Monsieur," he answered. "I haven't taken this road very often. An hour, two, maybe more… I'm not sure."

"Thank you," I muttered, leaning back in my seat again. Since there was nothing I could do to speed up the journey, I could as well try to get a little rest.

My day had been more exhausting than I'd have believed possible. I had needed several hours of discussion till the Norwegians had agreed to let me go without thinking badly of me or my business. They simply hadn't understood why I had been so keen on leaving. But then, how could they have understood it? _Their_ wives were surely not sitting at home with a potentially dangerous man who was in love with them, while being threathened and possibly attacked.

I hadn't been able to stand the uncertainty any longer. I just had to know what was going on. At day-time I had always tried to get a French newspaper in order to find out whether something extraordinary had been going on in Paris. There had never been anything in it, but that had only made me more anxious. What if an attack simply hadn't made it into the paper? The nights had been even worse. I had imagined the most terrible scenes, which had kept me awake for hours at a time. It was no wonder that I was tired now.

Tonight I'd sleep in my own bed again, and there'd be my wife lying next to me. At least I hoped so. This was something no newspaper had been able to tell me about, of course. I had to admit that those worries had been just as bad for my sleep as the ones about an attack, perhaps even worse. I hadn't received a letter from Jacqueline, but this probably only meant that she was more loyal to Christine than to me… or else the Phantom had intimidated her. That was possible as well.

I turned my head to the other side and closed my eyes. I didn't want to think about those things now, or I'd never be able to rest. I told myself firmly that I'd find out everything soon enough. Worrying would only make me more anxious. I'd sleep now, and by the time I'd wake up, we'd have already reached the city. Christine would welcome me with open arms and tell me that nothing bad had happened. We'd be happy again. I fell asleep with a smile on my face.


	145. Chapter One Hundred and FortyFive

**Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Five**

**September 18th 1892: **_the Opera Ghost_

It was common knowledge that it were the most absurd stories which tended to remain in one's memory for the longest time. How else could it be explained that the strange tale of me being married to Christine Daaé was still in my head? I thought about it all the time while I watched everyone prepare themselves for the rehearsal.

It had even been on my mind while I had attended the rehearsal in Box Five. And indeed there were a few things that made me wonder whether there wasn't a grain of truth in it after all… such as the fact that I didn't know more than two or three dancers. Most of the musicians seemed to be new, too. And where was La Carlotta? Wad that woman with the terribly loud voice her understudy? And why didn't I even know the opera they were performing? I couldn't recall having approved of it.

All this was very strange. I sat in Box Five even after the rehearsal was over, massaging my temples and thinking hard. Could it be possible that Mme.Giry's story was true? But that was absurd! There was an alternative, of course. Maybe I was simply starting to forget things because I was… growing old. The thought made me shudder. The Opera Ghost must not grow old. Ghosts didn't age. They could be around a thousand years and still look the same. It was part of what made them special.

But I was not a ghost, not really. Sometimes I forgot that fact because it made things easier for me. Yet there was always something that reminded me of it after a while. Christine Daaé, for example. On some occasions I was barely able to correct her mistakes while she was singing because I was too busy listening to her angelic voice and watching the light play in her dark hair. Sometimes I would even find myself staring into space, thinking of her.

I knew the name of the infection I had caught. It was love. I had felt love before, but it had never been this strong, this all-consuming. It frightened me like few things had frightened me in my life. Yet I fought against it. I frequently scolded myself for having the kind of romantic thoughts that should have had no place in my mind.

This was one of the reasons why I couldn't imagine being married to Christine. Being married meant admitting openly that one was in love, and I didn't think I had done that. Admitting something was showing weakness. I never showed any kind of weakness. No, it was impossible. It couldn't be true.

But if it wasn't true, it meant I was getting so old that I even forgot things that were important for my life. Would I forget the way to my lair next? Or the location of my traps? That was a thought too terrible to contemplate. At once I jumped to my feet. I had to prove that I still knew everything. I had to prove it to myself. I'd go down to my lair, avoiding all the traps. Perhaps I'd find something in my home that would help me, something like a list on which I had written down the names of the chorus girls or my thoughts about the new opera. Perhaps… perhaps I already knew that I was forgetting everything, but couldn't remember it now. My worries were truly getting worse with every moment that passed. I had to go back to my home.

I had just locked the door of Box Five and marched down the corridor, when I noticed a man coming towards me.

"Oh, the Opera Ghost," he said, sounding less than pleased to see me. "I didn't realise you watched the rehearsal. Did you enjoy it? Was everything the way you want it?"

"M.Firmin," I greeted him with a brief nod. This was one of the managers, I told myself, in the way people spoke to small children. As long as I still knew that, not all could be lost. "Yes, yes, everything was acceptable," I added. I had no intention to admit that most of the time I had been busy trying to figure out who on earth those people on stage had been.

"Will you attend the performance as well?" M.Firmin asked. "Shall I tell everyone to give their best because you'll be sitting in the audience?"

"Tell them that if they don't always give their best, they can as well look for new employment right away," I replied matter-of-factly. "Good actors also give their best in front of an empty auditorium."

"Erm… yes," the manager muttered. "And your little friend? Will he come here again, too?"

"Who?" The question had left my mouth before I could think better of it.

"Well, the boy you had with you on the first night," he replied, frowning. "Philippe Charles, isn't that his name?"

This time I was faster to react.

"Yes, that's his name," I said. "But I haven't decided whether he'll join me again tonight. Maybe he'll stay with his mother." I had chosen my words carefully. If M.Firmin told me who that mysterious boy's mother was, I'd perhaps remember something as well.

"Oh, Mme. de Changy can come as well," he told me with a smile. "It was such a pleasure to see her again. Surely she misses the stage very much… doesn't she?" He threw me a questioning glance, and I couldn't help feeling that he was trying to use me to get answers, just like I used him. My mind was working quickly. Mme. de Chagny… misses the stage… it could only be one person.

"Yes, Christine misses the stage," I stated slowly.

To my relief, M.Firmin nodded.

"It's a pity that she has never returned after… that night," he murmured wistfully.

It was becoming too much for me. I didn't understand anything. Which night was he talking about? Why had Christine never returned to the stage? Why had she left the stage in the first place? Why was she called Mme. de Chagny? Mme.Giry had said she was married to me…

Without a word of explanation I walked away, aware that the manager was staring after me. I was used to people doing that, and I didn't care. I was determined to go to my home, now more than ever. If there was one place where I'd find the answers I needed so desperately, it would be in the rooms that were familiar to me. Maybe I'd even find a marriage certificate… or traces of someone living with me.

Could it be possible that I had a child and didn't remember it? No, surely Mme.Giry would have mentioned something that important. She hadn't said a word of a child. But then, M.Firmin hadn't called that Philippe Charles my son at all. Perhaps I had taken in Christine and her child after the marriage to the Vicomte – Who else should she have been married to? – had failed and was raising the boy as my own now. I shook my head. That didn't sound very likely. Why should I have taken in that man's child?

I was still pondering on that question and a lot more when I reached my house. At least I had had no difficulties in finding it, and I hadn't landed in one of my traps either. Walking from room to room I noticed that I seemed to have abandoned my home for a while, probably in order to stay somewhere else. There were clothes missing from the wardrobe, my favourite hat was gone from the coat rack, and my suitcases were nowhere to be seen. Had I been on holiday with my new family? But why was I here then? And where were the others?

Questions and questions, and none of them I could answer. What was wrong with me? I had always been able to answer every question. It was one of the things Christine admired the most about me. Or did she no longer admire me? I couldn't be sure about it. Mme.Giry had said I had lost my memory, but she hadn't known how I could get it back. So how was I supposed to know it? I didn't know anything…

I sat down at the organ and started playing the first melody that came to my mind, but for some reason I was unable to lose myself in the music today. Apparently Mozart couldn't help me either. I buried my face in my hands, feeling very helpless. It was a feeling I wasn't used to, and I didn't like it at all. I enjoyed having everything under control, yet it seemed that I couldn't control the things that were going on inside my head anymore.

I didn't cry – I had at least that much dignity left. Yet maybe crying would have made me feel better. I didn't know it. I was a complete wreck. I – What was that? There was a sheet of paper dangling from the organ, threatening to fall down onto the keys any moment. It wasn't one of the usual sheets of music. It was a hand-written document of some kind. I seized it and started reading. _I hereby declare that on September 16th 1892 I will move…_By the time I was finished, I didn't understand much more than before. But I had an address. I had a place to go.


	146. Chapter One Hundred and FortySix

**Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Six**

**September 18th 1892: **_Jacqueline_

"What do you mean – M.Erik isn't here?" I repeated faintly, looking at Larisse in confusion.

We were sitting in the kitchen with cups of tea in front of us, filling each other in on what had happened today. Antoinette was upstairs with Philippe, who had been very happy that his sister had come home to play with him. The cook had told me that he had been alone with her since before noon, growing more bored by the minute. Even seeing his sister seemed to have been a nice change.

"He left in the morning," Larisse replied. "A while later, Madame's friend Mme.Tavoire arrived, and they left together. Madame said she'd be back before noon to fetch Philippe, for they were invited to lunch at Mme.Tavoire's house. Yet neither she nor M.Erik have shown up. Do you think something happened to them?" She peered anxiously over the egde of her cup as she brought it to her lips.

I watched her as she drank, finding the signs of distress in her slightly alarming. It was clear that she had desperately tried to disguise her feelings in front of the child, lest she made him worried as well, yet now they were more obvious than ever. I didn't blame her. If I had known before that Madame and M.Erik were missing for hours, I'd have been in the same state. I was almost a little glad that I hadn't known it.

"Something is definitely wrong," I said slowly. "M.Erik wouldn't leave the house unprotected for such a long time, and Madame wouldn't leave Philippe alone if she had promised him to be back soon. Do you know where they wanted to go or what they were planning to do?"

"M.Erik didn't say anything to me," she answered. "Yet since Madame told me that she had to go to the opera to help him look for something, he must have gone to the opera as well. But I… I don't think…" Her voice trailed off as she looked down into her cup.

"You don't think what?" I prompted gently.

"I think that might not have been the truth," Larisse all but whispered. Then she bit her lip, apparently mortified by what she had dared say. "I know it's wrong to assume such things about the person I'm working for," she went on hastily. "Please don't tell Madame!"

"Of course I won't tell her," I assured the cook. "What makes you think she might have been ly- not telling the truth?" I finished quickly as I saw the expression on her face.

"Well, Madame seemed to be a little upset," she said. "It was as if she knew there was something wrong, but didn't know what exactly it was. Besides, don't you think it's a little peculiar that Mme.Tavoire comes to fetch Madame, just because M.Erik lost something? Why couldn't he ask her about it later, when he'd see her anyway?"

"Those are good questions," I muttered. "The whole story just doesn't make sense. If they only wanted to search for something, why couldn't Philippe come with them?"

"What do you think has happened?" Larisse asked me.

I didn't give an immediate reply. I couldn't tell her into which direction my thoughts had just been straying. There was a certain activity that children shouldn't be present at. But then, that would have hardly taken several hours, not when they knew Philippe was waiting at home. Neither Madame nor M.Erik were that thoughtless.

"Oh, I don't know," I answered in a would-be casual voice. "It was just a silly thought."

"Maybe we should alert the police," the cook said pensively. "We could send them a message."

"And what would you tell them?" I wanted to know. "Two grown-up people, missing for a couple of hours, in broad daylight… it hardly sounds alarming, does it?"

"Yes, but if we explained the special circumstances as well – " she argued, but I interrupted her.

"We can't explain the circumstances. We all agreed on not going to the police. So we can't do it now, without even asking for permission. It could cause a catastrophe, and it would be our fault."

"A catastrophe?" she murmured. "But how? What would the police do, except looking for them?"

I was about to answer when I stopped myself. I had recalled just in time that Larisse didn't know who M.Erik had once been. I certainly wasn't the right person to tell her about it. I didn't even know whether it was still important. But if it was, I didn't want to be the one to tell the police who the Opera Ghost was with at the moment.

"I'm not sure what they'd do," I admitted. "Probably nothing. I'm just worried about… about the rumours that could be created if the wrong people hear that the Countess de Chagny vanished with a man who is not her husband." ´Especially if that man happens to be the Phantom of the Opera,´ I added in my head.

"But surely the people working for the police have enough integrity not to talk about such things to anyone," Larisse said.

"Perhaps you're right," I gave back. "But can we really afford to find out? There has to be just one policeman who tells his wife about it. She tells her sister, who tells her neightbour, who…"

"All right," she agreed. "I've understood it. What else can we do, though? I'm tired of waiting. I've been doing nothing else all afternoon. The kitchen has never been this clean before."

Looking around I saw that she was right. Every surface in the room was shining like a highly polished silver plate. The dishes were done, and the food for dinner was standing on the stove. It just had to be heated. Larisse had once told me that cleaning was her way of fighting nervousness, and now I believed it.

"I don't know whether there's something we can do," I muttered. "Even if they're still at the opera… You've never been there. The place is like a maze, with hundreds of rooms in which they could be. And if they're not together, our chances of finding them dwindle further. Besides, I don't think we should leave the house. M.Erik has always been very strict about it. He wouldn't like to have us wander around in the opera."

The cook nodded.

"I don't think it would be good to leave the children alone either," she agreed. "Philippe is already anxious because his mother hasn't come back yet. It wouldn't be right if we frightened him further by leaving as well. But maybe… maybe we could send a message to the opera, saying that Madame and M.Erik should come home."

"That's a good idea," I said slowly. "But what if the messenger can't find them either? Do you want him to search the opera instead of us?"

"Of course not," she replied. "Madame left with Mme.Tavoire, didn't she? So Mme.Tavoire will know where she has gone. Perhaps she has seen M.Erik as well."

"So we'll send the message to Mme.Tavoire, who shouldn't be that hard to find," I finished her thought. I began to like her idea more and more by the minute, especially since there was no risk for us involved. "Very good. Who can we use as a messenger? Jacques?"

"No. He has gone to bed after lunch, and I haven't seen him since," Larisse told me. "He'd never say so, but I think all the driving yesterday was too much for him. It wouldn't be nice to wake him up now, just to send him to the opera. And he'd have to walk there, too, because we don't have a coach at the moment. Gabriel would surely be a better choice."

I agreed with that assessment. Moreover, Jacques was another one of the people who shouldn't know that Madame and M.Erik were missing together. I didn't want him to get the wrong kind of ideas.

"Gabriel should be here soon," the cook informed me. "He's in the stable, grooming the horses, but knowing him, I'd say he'll come inside for a glass of water before long."

And, sure enough, she had hardly finished her sentence when the back door was opened and Gabriel came in, sweaty, his shirt and trousers covered in hair… and still a disturbingly attractive sight. Throwing that inappropriate thought out of my head quickly, I filled him in on what we'd like him to do, while he emptied a glass of water.

"That shouldn't be a problem," he said. "I wanted to give Etoile the chance to stretch her legs anyway. It'll do her good, and I'll be back before dinner." He threw a hopeful glance in the direction of the stove. He either wasn't too worried about Madame and M.Erik or managed to hide it well.

Hastily I wrote a few lines on a piece of paper, and a minute later Gabriel had left again. Personally, I didn't care whether it was his worry or his appetite that urged him on, as long as it made him ride quickly.

Larisse offered me another cup of tea, but I shook my head.

"I'll better go and see what the children are doing," I told her. "Antoinette sometimes has dangerous ideas when she's bored."

"I'll come with you," the cook decided. "I don't want to sit here all alone."

We made our way through the corridor quickly and had just reached the staircase, when there was a knock on the entrance door. We exchanged anxious glances.

"Madame and M.Erik have a key," I whispered. "But maybe Gabriel forgot something. We locked the back door behind him."

"I'll just open the door a little," Larisse murmured.

We appraoched it on tiptoe, and she pushed down the handle, opening the door a mere inch or two. I craned my neck to see something, yet since we were about the same height, I couldn't look over her. But there was no mistaking the blood-curling scream she let out.

"Madame!" she cried." Oh my God!"

She sank to her knees, and I had a clear view on the body lying on the steps. My stomach turned.


	147. Chapter One Hundred and FortySeven

**Author's note:** Don't forget to send in your guesses within the next days! The culprit could be revealed as soon as in the next chapter or the one after that. Also, some people have to clarify their guesses. I can't accept more than one guess per person. So far, I've received guesses from Catnipp, Blue-Rose-Soul, Elammito-Dragonsong, Icelands, Phantom-jedi 1 and Soonerratherthanlater. If you're not one of those people, but think you sent me a guess, please do so again. I may not have received it. Anyway, on with the story. The plot is not the only thing that thickens in this chapter.

**Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Seven**

**September 18th 1892: **_Jacqueline_

There were many things one learned when working with children. One of them was not to panic, no matter what happened. I was known to stay calm in the face of disaster, and blood didn't scare me either. Yet this was worse than anything I had ever seen. The body of Madame was lying on its side, and Larisse was crouching next to it, sobbing into her hands.

For once, I didn't want to stay calm. I wanted to cry and shout and throw up and run away, everything at the same time. Suddenly I was not twenty-six years old anymore. I was thirteen, and my sister was lying in front of me. She had fallen from the tree I had forbidden her to climb and landed right at my feet. I couldn't help her, even if I had known how. I was paralysed with fear.

And then, just as suddenly, I heard my mother's voice.

_You've got to help her, Jacqueline._

´But I don't know how,´ I protested. ´Can't you do it?´

_If I do it, you'll never learn. No, you're the one who has to do it. I'll help you._

I still didn't know exactly why my mother, who was a midwife and knew a lot about injuries, hadn't helped my sister herself. My best guess was that she had seen at once that she hadn't been seriously hurt and wanted to strengthen my self-confidence. It had certainly worked.

With my mother's instructions in my ears, I finally managed to approach Madame.

_Make sure you always remember who the person is, what they mean to you. As soon as you forget it, you'll stop caring about their well-being._

Madame was the woman I worked for. She had chosen me all those years ago, even though I had been young and inexperienced. She hadn't even dismissed me when she had found out that it had been I who had kept M.Erik informed about what was going on in her house. I'd never forget that.

_Examine the person and try to find out what injuries they have._

That had always been my mother's next step, but there was something I had to do first. My mother couldn't have known that one day I'd deal with a person who might be… might be… I couldn't even bring myself to think the big, ugly word. Instead, I opened the entrance door completely, passed Larisse, who was still sobbing so hard that I doubted she noticed me, and kneeled down beside Madame.

"Madame?" I addressed her in a loud and clear voice. "Madame, can you hear me?" I had often heard my mother use the same voice with women who had been so exhausted after giving birth that they had passed out. But there was no reaction now, not a word, not even the fluttering of an eyelid. Madame lay perfectly still. She looked as though she were sleeping.

I knew there was a second thing I could try, but I was afraid. What if that wouldn't work either? Then I'd be certain that she was… She couldn't be. I had to try it. I had to know. Slowly I brought my hand to her face and held it in front of her nose. If she was breathing, I should be able to feel it. _If_…

There it was. The unmistakable feeling of breath against my fingers, deep and even. So she was not… My heart was swelling with gratitude, and I could hardly hold back tears.

"Thank you, God," I murmured.

_Never let emotions overwhelm you while you are working. You can be as happy or as sad as you please… when you're finished._

My mother's words reminded me of what I had to do. I had to look for injuries next. The trouble was that I couldn't see any. But then, Madame was lying on her side. Perhaps the injuries were on the other side of her body. I'd have to turn her onto her back. After a few moments' thinking I placed my hands on her shoulder and pushed hard. She was much heavier than I'd have expected, but I finally managed to turn her over… regretting it instantly as I saw the left side of her face.

The first thing that caught my eye was the terrible wound at the side of her head. She seemed to have been hit with something heavy. Her skin had burst open, and there was blood on her foreheard, her cheek and in her hair. The doorstep was rather clean, though, so I guessed that by the time she had been brought here, she had already stopped bleeding. I didn't know whether that was good or bad, but I hoped it was good.

I didn't see any other injuries. Not even her clothes were torn, just dirty. Whatever had happened to her, it could have been much worse. If only I could make her wake up… Recalling another method I had seen my mother use, I patted Madame's cheek, gently at first, then more firmly when she still showed no reaction.

"Madame!" I called. "Madame, you've got to wake up now!" I was slowly growing impatient. She was breathing, so why couldn't she just wake up?

At last, at long last, she opened her eyes. Her gaze was unfocused as she loked up at me, and I doubted that she could see properly, especially with her left eye, since the surrounding part of her face was swollen. Still I could have cried with joy. Madame was awake, she was truly awake!

She muttered something I couldn't understand and tried to sit up, but she was too weak. Quickly I placed a hand under her head as she sank down again. I noticed in alarm how cold she was.

_Always make sure the person is warm and as comfortable as possible. Warmth is essential for the human well-being._

Why hadn't I thought of that piece of advice sooner? Why hadn't I brought her inside first, instead of letting her lie outside, allowing her body to cool down? I pushed the questions to the back of my head, for I couldn't answer them. I couldn't change the past. If I could do that, I'd never let Madame leave the house in the first place.

Yet now that it had already happened, I had to get her inside quickly. For the first time since she had opened the door, I addressed Larisse.

"We've got to carry her inside," I said.

"Yes, yes… that's the least we can do," she muttered, her face still hidden behind her hands. "Such a misery… such a terrible misery… And the children! What will we tell the poor children?" A fresh wave of sobs shook her body.

Knowing that she wouldn't hear me now anyway, I waited a few moments before I told her gently:

"Look at her, Larisse! She's not... you know.".

Slowly her face emerged from behind her hands, and she looked over at Madame. Her eyes grew wide, and she gave me a tearful smile.

"I can't believe it," she whispered. "What have you done?"

"Nothing," I replied, for I didn't feel as if I had done much.

It seemed to have been enough to impress Larisse, though. Leaning over Madame, she kissed me on both cheeks. Then she bent down and kissed her, too, tears streaming down her face. Madame groaned. Apparently her face hurt too much to be kissed.

"We can still celebrate inside," I told her quickly. "But first we've got to get her there."

"I… think… can walk…" Madame breathed, her lips parted ever so slightly. Yet Larisse and I shook our heads.

"The risk would be too high," I said. "You could fall. We'll carry you, and Jacques can go and fetch a doctor. And the children…" I stopped myself, noticing the flaw in my plan. "Oh no, we can't do it like that. Larisse, you go to the children. Make sure they stay upstairs. I don't want them to see their mother before I've had time to clean her a little. But first you go to Jacques and tell him to come and help me. I don't care if you have to wake him up," I added.

Larisse nodded and walked away quickly, muttering what I assumed was a prayer under her breath.

"Raoul? Erik?" Madame whispered.

"They'll be here soon," I assured her gently, even though I had no idea where they were. "Everything will be all right."

I sat there, stroking her hair and her face, avoiding the bruised parts, till Jacques arrived. He didn't say a word, but merely gave me a brief nod to indicate that he was here and willing to help me. Follwing my instructions, he seized Madame under the armpits, while I took her legs. It surely wasn't the most comfortable way of carrying someone, but somehow we managed to get her onto the sofa in the living room. Neither of us had wanted to try the stairs.

"You have to go and fetch the doctor," I said as soon as I had regained my breath enough to speak. "I don't know how serious the injury on her head is. And, Jacques…" I went on, although he had already turned around. "I know you've never been too fond of Madame. Still it would be very nice if you could hurry up. If anything happens to her and I find out that you didn't walk as quickly as you could, I'll make sure M.Erik knows about it, too."

"Master Raoul loves her," he gave back simply, as if he hadn't heard my threat. "I'd never do anything that would hurt him as well." With these words he left.

"I guess we're lucky then," I remarked, only to notice that Madame had slid back into unconsciousness. I made no attempt to wake her up a second time. Now that I knew she could wake up, it was probably best to let her sleep. I fetched a blanket to cover her with and sat down in a chair next to the sofa. So many things had happened since Larisse had opened the door, and now was the first moment I had to take a deep breath. With a smile I realised that my mother would have been proud of me. I'd have to send her a –

My thoughts were interrupted when Jacques strode back into the room.

"I am unable to leave the house," he told me. "The door is locked."

"But none of us locked the door when we carried Madame inside," I said, shaking my head. Then, following a sudden idea, I patted the pockets of Madame's coat. They were empty. "Someone took her key," I stated in a low voice, feeling my skin break out in gooseflesh. I didn't know what this meant, but it couldn't be good. There was a sense of foreboding in the air. And that was not the only thing.

"What's that smell?" I asked.

Involuntarily our gaze wandered to the door to the corridor, which he had left open. We saw the smoke at the same time.


	148. Chapter One Hundred and FortyEight

**Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Eight**

**September 18th 1892: **_Jacqueline_

"What's… happening?" Madame asked in a faint voice. Apparently I had spoken loud enough to wake her up. It was a question I'd have liked to have the answer to as well.

"It's…" I was about to tell her that it was nothing, yet one look into her eyes made me stop. Madame was injured, but not stupid. "I'm not sure," I told her truthfully. "But we'll have to find out. Jacques, could you go and see where the smoke is coming from?"

"Of course," he said, leaving the room without a moment's hesitation.

I watched him go, trying to persuade myself that nothing bad could have happened. Perhaps someone had thrown a burning newspaper through the open window. Jacques would be able to put it out within a minute. It was no big problem. Really…

"Where are… the children?" Madame wanted to know. I was glad to hear that her voice sounded a little stronger than before.

"They're upstairs with Larisse," I replied, welcoming the change of subject. "They're fine."

Her lips curled into a small smile. Then she winced.

"Hurts…" she breathed.

"I wish I could clean the wound," I muttered, half to myself. "It would surely be better…" I pulled out a handkerchief, but it was no good without water. I looked around in the room, expecting to see a forgotten glass of water, but there was nothing. I should have known. In a household that Larisse was responsible for, glasses didn't stand around for a long time.

"I'm sorry," I said miserably. "I can't do anything."

"Not your fault…" Madame assured me. "Do not worry… I'm fine…" She looked far from fine, but at least her face was a little less pale than before. Maybe she was indeed recovering, although it would have doubtlessly been better for her to lie in a proper bed instead of a sofa and be cared for by a doctor instead of a maid.

This thought inevitably brought me back to Jacques and why he hadn't been able to fetch a doctor. Why had the door been locked? And how had Madame ended up on our doorstep? At least that was something I could find out.

"Do you think you cold tell me what happened to you?" I asked her softly.

She nodded, moving her head just an inch or two, and tried to sit up. I helped her, bringing her into a more comfortable position with the help of a cushion.

"I was… at the opera… looking for Erik…" she started.

I frowned. I didn't want to interrupt her this early in the story, but if I didn't understand the beginning, how was I supposed to understand the rest? So I asked:

"But didn't you go to the opera to help him look for something? Why were you looking for him then?".

Madame let out a deep sigh. To my horror, her eyes filled with tears.

"Erik has lost… his mind," she murmured. "Doesn't know who he is… doesn't love me anymore…"

Quickly I dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief before the tears began to run down her cheeks. She inhaled sharply as I touched the bruised part of her face, and I tried to be even more careful.

"I'm sure he loves you, no matter what else he knows or doesn't know," I whispered gently.

Madame merely shook her head.

"So you were at the opera?" I prompted, eager to get away from a subject that seemed to hurt Madame more than her wound. Besides, I had a feeling that it couldn't be explained in a few sentences anyway.

"Yes," she replied, pulling herself together with visible efforts. "In the cellars… a man came… and I fell. Then I woke up… somewhere else… don't know where… people were talking…about murdering me… the same man came… I… I thought he'd murder me now… but he must have hit me… with the pistol instead… then I was here…" Her voice trailed off, and she let her head sink against the sofa.

I wanted to ask so many questions, yet seeing how exhausted she was from all the talking, I held myself back. At least I had an idea of what had happened to her. She'd be able to fill me in on the rest later, if she felt like it. There was just one question I did utter.

"Do you think those people had something to do with the attacks?"

She nodded faintly, apparently too tired to speak, and closed her eyes again.

My mind was working quickly. Those people had brought Madame back here for a reason, and I didn't believe it had only happened to torment us further by finding her. They had also taken her key, which made me even more worried. One didn't have to lock a door just to throw a burning newspaper through the window. There had to be more, and it couldn't be something good.

I glanced at the door again, yet since Jacques had closed it behind him when he had left, I couldn't tell whether there was still smoke in the corridor. I tried to tell myself the story of the newspaper yet again, but with the knowledge I had gained from talking to Madame, it sounded even more unlikely than before. This attack was something big, much bigger than the other ones. I could feel it.

Since Jacques was nowhere to be seen yet and there was nothing else I could do for Madame, I allowed myself a few moments' thinking about why all this was happening. What had we done to deserve this? Well, I didn't seriously assume that I or one of the other servants had anything to do with it. If we had, there would have been more effective methods of targetting us, especially those of us who had a family. Yet most fortunately no one had attacked my mother or my sister, and I hadn't heard about something like that happening to Larisse' or Gabriel's families either.

In a way, this was very comforting. But then, I couldn't imagine that the Comte or Madame – for surely it hadn't been one of the children – had done something to deserve such a cruel punishment. They were among the nicest people I knew, and I knew quite a few. And even if they had done something terrible, it wouldn't have justified such means. Nobody deserved this.

The aspect that worried me most was how little regard for human lives those attackers showed. Admittedly, some of the things they had done hadn't been more than very tasteless jokes. Yet even the smashing of the windows could have got someone hurt. After all, they couldn't have known that none of us was having their bed next to one of the windows. We could have also been hit by pieces of glass. And who knew whether the beggars who had wanted to keep Madame and M.Erik from leaving the property with the children wouldn't have attacked them if he hadn't managed to make them calm down? Antoinette had told me all about it.

It was a pity that she had not been present when the incident with the coach had taken place. No, of course it was not a pity, for it would have scared the girl. I'd have just liked to know a few details about it. I couldn't help it. All the women in my family were curious, and I was no exception.

I wished M.Erik were here now. If he had been here, he could have gone to look what was happening instead of Jacques, and he'd have surely found it out much sooner. Besides, he could look after himself. I had to admit that I was slowly getting worried because of Jacques' absence. He was an old man, after all. What if something had happened to him as well? I'd never forgive myself.

Maybe I should go and see where he was. But then, I didn't want to leave Madame alone, even though she was sleeping. She was still very weak. What if she needed something ot the pain became worse, and nobody would be there to help and comfort her? I wished Larisse were down here instead of upstairs with the children. I wished Gabriel were here instead of delivering a message to the opera.

Yet most of all I wished I weren't in charge. I didn't even know how I had ended up in this position. Had I ever expressed the wish to tell others what to do? If I had, I couldn't remember it. And come to think of it, why was everybody listening to me? Why didn't they make their own decisions? I guessed they were glad that they had someone who told them what to do. But why did I have to be that someone? Being in charge was something for people such as M.Erik, who always seemed to be so sure of himself. It only scared me.

It was no wonder that I jumped and nearly fell out of my chair when Jacques came in. I had been so busy with my thoughts that I hadn't even noticed the door being opened.

"What is it?" I asked, more loudly than I had planned. My question made Madame open her eyes again.

Jacques took one look at her and replied:

"It's nothing to worry about.".

I was about to comment on that statement when I caught his eye. He shook his head slightly. There was something wrong.

"Could I talk to you in private for a moment, Jacqueline?" he wanted to know.

"Of course," I answered, following him into a corner of the room, far away from Madame.

He leaned down to me and told me in a whisper:

"I do not mean to upset you, Mademoiselle, but I have to inform you that the kitchen is on fire.".


	149. Chapter One Hundred and FortyNine

**Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Nine**

**September 18th 1892: **_Jacqueline_

My eyes grew wide with shock. I couldn't believe what I had just heard.

"On fire…" I muttered dully. "On fire…"

"It is true," Jacques said gravely. "When I entered the kitchen, the curtains were just catching fire. I quickly managed to locate the origin of the flames as a bucket full of burning cloth or a similar material, I suppose. That was where the smoke came from. I saw at once that the fire had already spread too far to be stopped by one person, so I merely closed the door. Of course that won't hold it back for a very long time."

I wasn't used to Jacques talking that much, and for a moment I stared at him incredulously. Then I pulled myself together. I also wasn't used to the house being on fire, and that was far more important now than analysing someone's speech habits.

"We've got to get out of here," I whispered urgently, throwing a brief glance at Madame. She was craning her neck, trying to overhear our conversation. It was only a matter of time till we'd have to tell her as well. I was not looking forward to it.

"I agree," Jacques gave back. "But I'm afraid I don't know how we can do it. The front door is locked, and we do not have a key…"

We exchanged a glance of understanding. We servants had always used to share one set of keys. The concept behind it had been that the person who'd come back soonest took it. It had always worked rather well, especially since Larisse and Jacques were here most of the time anyway and could let the others in. So none of us had disagreed when our key had been given to M.Erik two days ago. But now we'd have needed it.

"The back door is out of the question for obvious reasons," the butler went on after a moment, and I nodded. I didn't feel like taking on the fire single-handed.

"We could go through one of the windows," I suggested. "The ones here and those in the dining room lead directly into the garden. If we give them a chair to step onto, even the children will manage easily." I began to warm to the idea. It seemed really simple. "Perhaps we won't even have to tell them what's going on. We'll just say that it's a new game, and then we'll open the window and – "

"No," Jacques interrupted me simply.

"Why not?" I asked, unable to keep a slightly aggressive undertone out of my voice. "It's a good idea, and I haven't heard you come up with a better one so far. So – "

"It is a good idea," he acknowledged calmly. "I know it because I had the same one, right after I had seen the fire. Didn't you wonder why I was gone for such a long time? I went from room to room, checking the windows. The result was identical for every single one: nailed shut."

My jaw dropped.

"But… but how… when…?" I muttered.

"I believe they must have done it this afternoon," Jacques replied. "I was upstairs, and as far as I'm informed, Larisse was in the kitchen with Philippe and Gabriel was in the stable. None of us noticed the sounds. Naturally those people couldn't do the kitchen, for it was not empty, but since they started the fire there, it wasn't necessary."

"How did they reach the windows on the first floor?" I asked.

"Oh, I haven't been upstairs," the butler told me. "I don't think we'll find the windows nailed shut there. But we couldn't possibly go through one of those windows, could we? We'd break our neck."

I nodded reluctantly. He was right.

"What else can we do?" I whispered, looking up to him. I had had enough of being in charge. I wanted someone else to make decisions for a change.

"The first step will be informing Larisse of our unfortunate situation," Jacques said, uttering exactly what I had been afraid he would.

"Do you think we should tell the children as well?" I asked timidly.

"I'm not sure about it," he replied. "You know the children far better than I do. So you should decide… you or Madame."

"Madame!" I breathed, clapping a hand over my mouth. For a few moments, I had forgotten that she was there as well, in this very room. "Well, she is the mother," I murmured. "So it's up to her. But I think that first of all, we should tell _her_. Then we'll see how she'll react. I'm afraid she won't take it lightly."

"No one will take such news lightly," Jacques said meaningfully. Together we made our way back to the sofa.

"Madame?" I addressed her softly, for her eyes were half-closed again.

Tiredly she looked up at me.

"You go and tell the children," she whispered. "I can't do it myself."

I tried my best not to stare at her in disbelief.

"You – you heard us?" I asked. "But we were so quiet…"

"At the beginning, yes," she agreed. "But later on, I could understand you very well."

I looked at Jacques, who made a slightly helpless gesture with his hand. It was true that the more we had talked, the less cautious we had been. There had been more important things than controlling how loudly we had spoken.

"I'm sorry, Madame," I said with an apologetic smile. "Perhaps we should have talked in front of you right away, but we didn't want to upset you."

"It's all right," she assured me. "I don't mind." It was only now that I noticed she was using complete sentences again. She seemed to feel better. "Go to the children, Jacqueline," she repeated firmly. "They trust you. If they should hear it from anyone but myself, it should be you. And bring them down here. I want to have them with me, just in case…"

"Of course," I muttered hastily. "We should all be together now."

"I don't want to urge you on, but maybe you should hurry up a little," Jacques said. "I don't know how long the door to the kitchen will hold back the fire. If it gives way before you return…" He didn't finish his sentence, but I understood him anyway. If I didn't make I back in time, I'd be cut off from the living room. The fire would make its way down the corridor quickly.

"I will hurry," I promised. I gave Madame's hand a reassuring squeeze and went to the door.

I was terrified of what I'd find outside, but I knew that I mustn't show it in front of the others. Madame has sent me to fetch the children, and that was what I'd do. I couldn't have Jacques do all the dangerous things, while I sat around, doing nothing. So I took a deep breath and pulled open the door.

As far as I could tell, the kitchen door had not given way yet. There was smoke in the corridor, but it wasn't very much. I guessed it had come from under the door rather than through it. Still I ran as quickly as my feet would carry me, reaching Philippe's bedroom just a few minutes later. The children rarely played in Antoinette's room, for she was permanently afraid that her brother might break one of her toys… something that had happened the other way round more than once. Despite myself, I smiled a little. They were lovely children. They were lovely children, and it was up to me to save them, I reminded myself.

I didn't bother knocking, but burst into the room at once.The rules of politeness didn't apply when the house was on fire. Larisse and the children looked up at me in surprise. It seemed that the cook had just been reading to them from M.Erik's book. I hated myself for having disturbed the peaceful scene, but I couldn't help it.

"There has been a little… accident in the kitchen," I blurted out, wondering how Jacques had managed to maintain that calm voice when he had told me about it. My own voice sounded strangely squeaky. "It's nothing big, really, but we should better go downstairs now."

"Accident?"

"What kind of accident?"

"What happened?"

"Do you need help?"

Antoinette and Larisse were hurling questions at me without pause, so that I didn't have time to think about a single reply.

Philippe, on the other hand, remained silent. He seized his book, came over to me and tugged at my skirt.

"Has Maman come home yet?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied readily, glad that I had at least something positive to say. "Yes, she's in the living room. She doesn't feel too well, though," I added. "She… fell and hurt her head. But apart from that, she's fine. She has been asking for you."

The boy smiled, taking my hand.

"We have to go now," I told the other urgently. "I'll explain everything on the way."

Shrugging, Larisse seized Antoinette's hand, and they got up from the bed they had been sitting on.

They hadn't taken as much as five steps away from it when there was the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. A burning piece of cloth, wrapped around a stone, came flying through the window and landed inches from where Philippe had been sitting a minute before. The blanket caught fire at once. None of us moved.


	150. Chapter One Hundred and Fifty

**Author's note:** My deepest apologies to my dear readers! This chapter was actually finished on Friday, but I couldn't upload it until today.

**Chapter One Hundred and Fifty**

**September 18th 1892: **_the Opera Ghost_

I made my way out of my world slowly, but with determination. I was walking slowly because, now more than ever, I was anxiously avoiding my traps, and the determination was caused by the fact that I finally had a place to go. If I didn't find answers there, I'd find them nowhere. And that was exactly what I was afraid of.

No, that was the wrong term. Of course I was not afraid. The Opera Ghost was never afraid. I merely was… a little nervous. Yes, that was it. It felt strange, being on the way to a house I couldn't even recall existed, hoping to find people who'd help me. Help me! Me! The whole concept was completely unfamiliar to me. I usually didn't need help with anything.

I thought about what to do once I arrived at the house all the way up to the ground level of the opera, yet by the time I reached it, I still had no idea how I'd behave in certain situations. What if the Vicomte would open the door, for instance? According to the contract, he wouldn't be home, but what if he was? What would I say? ´Excuse me, could it be possible that I am married to your former wife Christine and have taken in her and her child?´

If he was anything like I remembered him, he'd probably alert the police at once, right after slamming the door into my face. But then, there were ways of making sure he wouldn't do that. I fumbled under my cloak for my Punjab Lasso. It was still there. It was a small comfort to see that at least a few things hadn't changed. I'd deal with the Vicomte, in this way or another. That man still needed to be taught a lesson for having taken Christine away from me.

I stopped dead. What kind of a strange thought had that just been? I didn't even know a man called the Vicomte… or did I? It was a fact that I had also recalled who he was when I had been talking to M.Firmin. Was it a sign that I was recovering or that I was growing completely insane? I tried to cling to the thought I had had before, the thought that this man had taken Christine away from me. Perhaps it would enable me to remember more.

Yet it was no good. Trying to hold on to the thought was like trying to hold on to a slippery fish. It wriggled out of my grasp and dived back into the ocean of my thoughts. I knew that I'd never find it again in there. It was too small, and I was too impatient to search for it for more than a few seconds before I gave up and continued walking, telling myself that it probably hadn't been important anyway.

I'd go to that house, and I'd find answers there. It would be best if I spoke to a servant first. Servants could always be bribed easily, and I'd get enough information to continue the search for myself. Perhaps it would turn out to be nothing but an absurd joke. Well, in that case I'd have to have a serious conversation with M.Firmin. I expected much more respect from my managers.

Of course it was also possible that I'd meet Christine. I hadn't understood the entire contents of the contract or why it had been written, but I had learned that she seemed to be living in that house, whereas I did not. This ruled out the idea that I had taken her in. I didn't know exactly why that realisation made me feel sad, but it did.

"Sad? The Opera Ghost?"

I stopped again, listeing to a girl's voice, somewhere in the corridor in front of me. How could she know what I had been thinking? Yet the next words made me understand what was truly going on.

"I didn't mean ´sad´ in the sense of unhappy, but in the sense of pathetic," a second girl replied. "Completely, utterly pathetic. I mean, he made Estella change her mind about Meg by _talking_ to her. It's so boring. I always thought the Opera Ghost possessed more… imagination."

I followed the girls down the corridor, mesmerised by their voices and fuming with rage. How did that girl dare call me pathetic? I was the Opera Ghost, I was feared by everyone. Imagination! I'd show her what true imagination meant. She'd curse the moment when she had said that. The exploration of my mind would have to wait. Other things were truly much more important now. Christine's house would surely still be there in a few hours' time.

_Raoul_

"Here we are!" the coachman declared, his words pulling me out of a light sleep. "Paris!" He sounded very proud, as if he had been the one to create the city single-handed.

I smiled to myself, opening my eyes expectantly. Yet what I saw was anything but the familiar street in which my house stood. Instead, I was looking at a completely different part of Paris.

As if he sensed my annoyance, the coachman went on:

"Well, our journey isn't exactly over yet. But we're in Paris, and that's the important thing, isn't it?".

I made a grunting sound that could be interpreted as agreement. Sure, from his point of view all that mattered was that we were in a city, where there'd be a hot meal and ale for him and hay and water for his horses. Besides, I doubted that he was aware of how big the city was. It would take us at least half an hour before we'd even reach the part of Paris I lived in.

Still, it was good to be back. I had missed the liveliness of the people, the fluency of the language that I heard everywhere. The sun had gone down by now, yet the streets were far from empty. They were filled with people either going out to the theatre or a restaurant or coming home from work. I didn't envy those who were going out, for I didn't feel like dressing up only to watch a mediocre performance of a mediocre play. Yet those who were coming home…

I sighed. I had been on quite a few journeys before, but I had never realised how much my home meant to me. I had been thinking of little else all the time. Of course I knew why it was like that all of a sudden: On my other journeys I hadn't been afraid of coming home to find my family frightened by some attack and my wife seeking solace in another man's arms.

As much as I hated to admit it, I was frightened as well. Would Christine even be there when I'd come back? Perhaps she had used the time while I had been gone to make a decision and was no longer staying at home. Perhaps she had found a new home with… _him._ The thougth made me shudder. I didn't know what I'd do if that had indeed happened. I'd never forgive myself for having invited that man into my home.

But then, it was not as if I had had a real choice. The Phantom had practically forced me to do it, or he wouldn't have protected my family at all. And protection they had surely needed… I groaned, slamming my fist against the wood panelling of the coach in a pointless attempt to stop my thoughts. Going over the scenes over and over in my head wouldn't help me either. I had made those decisions, no matter whether I liked them today.

"Is something wrong?" the coachman asked, looking over his shoulder. I should have known he'd hear the sound of my fist against the wood.

"No, no, I'm fine," I assured me. "I'm – Look out!"

A few people had started crossing the road in front of us without looking left or right. The coachman spun around in his seat, cursing loudly and jerking the reins to the right in order to get the coach away from the people. Instinctively I held tight, which was very good, for in the next moment the right wheel of the coach hit the kerbstone with a loud thud. We swayed slightly, then we came to a halt.

At once, the coachman left his seat and went around the coach to see whether anything was damaged. I got up as well as I heard him inhale sharply. I opened my mouth to ask whether there was a problem, yet looking down, I saw it for myself. There was a deep crack in the wood of the wheel.

"Can we go on in this state?" I wanted to know.

The coachman let his fingers wander over the crack for a few moments, mumbling to himself. Then he shook his head.

"It's too deep, Monsieur," he replied. "The whole wheel could break into pieces." He looked up at me with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry," he said. "I should have paid more attention to the street. But those people… they came out of nowhere…"

"I know," I muttered. "Don't blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done any differently."

"I'm afraid we need a new wheel," he told me. "But I have no idea where I could get one at this time of day."

I made up my mind quickly.

"Why don't you stay here in Paris for the night?" I suggested. "It's too late to go back to Oslo now anyway. I'm sure you'll find a room for you and a stable for the horses. In the morning you'll have the new wheel attached and come to my house to drop off my luggage."

"But what about you?" he asked, frowning as I left the coach.

"I'll walk home," I answered, handing him a few bank notes. "It won't take longer than one or two hours. I'll enjoy the walk. Besides, my family doesn't expect me yet anyway. So it doesn't matter when I'll be there."

With these words I made my way down the street. Perhaps a little walk would indeed do me good.


	151. Chapter One Hundred and FiftyOne

**Author's note:** Attention, everyone! Please note that your guesses have to be sent in by tomorrow, Thursday, at midnight (GMT). I cannot accept guesses that come any later.

**Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-One**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Jacqueline_

For a moment we all stared at the fire incredulously, transfixed, while the flames started spreading over the blanket. None of us said a word. The children didn't even scream, although I could see the horror in their eyes. Only the sound of a second window being smashed managed to pull us out of our stupor.

"We've got to leave – fast!" I cried, realising at last how dangerous the situation was. The second window had clearly belonged to one of the other rooms on the first floor, but what if whoever was throwing those missiles would try this room again and hit the door? We'd be trapped.

I didn't wait for a reply, but simply picked up the terrified Philippe in my arms and carried him to the door. Judging by the sounds, Larisse was doing the same with Antoinette. I could hear the cook groan, for naturally the girl was heavier than her younger brother. It was a sign of how afraid Antoinette was that she didn't complain about such a treatment.

I turned around briefly as I reached the door to make sure the others were behind us, then I flung it open and stepped into the corridor. To my horror, I saw smoke billowing from downstairs. It hadn't reached the first floor yet, but it was spreading fast. I knew nothing about fires and couldn't tell whether this meant that the door to the kichen had given way. I only knew that I had to bring the others to the living room. There was no other way to get out of the house, since the dining room with its equally good windows was much too close to the kitchen.

"Where is all this smoke coming from?" Philippe asked, looking around him. "It can't come from my room only." Inwardly I cursed M.Erik for his excellent education. This boy couldn't be fooled.

"No, it doesn't," I replied truthfully, speaking loud enough for Antoinette and Larisse to hear me as well. "The kitchen's on fire. There are… bad people who try to hurt us. But they won't do anything to you. We won't let them. We'll go to the living room now, and then we'll leave the house and…"

Exhausted by my long speech, I took a deep breath. This, however, turned out to have been a grave mistake. I inhaled smoke and started coughing. Forcing myself to keep walking, I stopped at the stairs, noticing that only the top half was still visible. The rest was buried beneath grey clouds.

"Hold this over your nose and mouth," I instructed the boy, handing him my handkerchief. "It'll protect you from the smoke. Larisse?" I looked over my shoulder to advise her to do the same with Antoinette, only to see that she had already done so. Gripping the banister tightly, I began my way down the stairs.

I couldn't remember the last time anything had taken this long. The stairs didn't seem to end at all. Every time I was sure we'd have reached the bottom, there was another step coming. Once or twice I stumbled and nearly fell. The boy in my arms was making it very hard to keep my balance. Hearing the panting and gasping behind me, I knew it was just as hard for the others.

Finally, finally we were downstairs. I threw the entrance door a longing glance. Our way to escape was so close, and yet… But it was no use pondering on what would have been if things had been different. We had to make the best of what we had. And the best I could see – or rather, not see – at the moment was that the corridor didn't seem to be on fire yet, at least not the part of it we were walking through.

The smoke made my eyes water, and it was good that I knew where the living room was located, for I doubted I'd have found it otherwise. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve, feeling that I didn't have the strength to knock, even as we stood directly in front of the door.

"Jacques!" I called, trying to open my mouth as little as possible. ""Jacques!"

The door was opened at once. The butler seemed to have stood behind it, waiting for us. He let us in quickly, then closed the door again.

"The smoke is getting worse by the minute," he remarked. "What is going on? We heard breaking glass. I could hardly keep Madame from standing up."

I glanced over at Madame, who was indeed sitting rather than lying by now, looking a little healthier.

"I'll tell you in a moment," I promised. I put Philippe onto the floor, and he ran to his mother at once.

"Maman, Maman!" he cried, beside himself with joy. He threw himself into her outstretched arms, closely followed by his sister.

Involuntarily I let out a sigh. It was such a touching picture, the two children and their mother, happily reunited. I wondered whether my own children would act like that as well one day. If I ever had children, that was. Why was it that Gabriel's picture appeared in front of my mind's eye again?

"Mademoiselle?" A voice that sounded like anything but Gabriel's brought me back to earth abruptly, and I remembered where I was and what was happening. If I spent too much time dreaming, it wasn't very likely that I'd see Gabriel again at all. But dreaming was so nice, compared to the harsh reality… Suppressing another sigh, I told Jacques what had happened upstairs and filled in Larisse on the details on what was going on in the kitchen.

"So we can't get through the windows here?" Larisse asked, peering at the windows hopefully.

"I haven't actually tried these ones," Jacques said pensively. He went over to the one nearest to us, seized the handle and pulled. It didn't move as much as an inch. "Nailed shut as well," he declared gravely.

I had actually got my hopes up for a few moments, yet now I called myself foolish for having done so. Apparently those people had nailed all the windows shut, so why should they have left out those that would have been most convenient for us?

"But the windows remain our only chance," I mused aloud. "We can't get through the door and – "

"Philippe knows how to open doors without the key," Madame interjected. I hadn't even been aware that she was listening to our conversation, yet she had obviously been able to do so at the same time as comforting the children, who were still clinging to her sides.

"He does?" Larisse, Jacques and I wanted to know in unison, looking at each other. Then our gaze wandered to the boy.

"Uncle Erik taugh me how to do it," he said shyly, burying his face at his mother's shoulder. It was clear that the attention was too much for him. Still I couldn't help asking:

"Do you think you could do it again? Could you open the entrance door for us?".

Philippe shrugged, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.

"I have the right instrument," he replied, pulling a small silvery object out of his pocket. I noticed that he still had M.Erik's book tucked under his arm.

"What are we waiting for, then?" Larisse exclaimed. "We have to get out!" She pulled open the door and was instantly enveloped in a dark grey cloud. Now it had really happened. The door to the kitchen had given way.

Without thinking, I pulled the cook away from the door, and Jacques slammed it shut.

"We can't get out," I said, putting an arm around the shaking Larisse's shoulders. "We don't know how far the fire has already come. And Philippe couldn't see in all the smoke anyway."

"I won't let a child of mine leave the room through that door," Madame declared fiercely, tightening her grip around Antoinette and Philippe. Her eyes were glittering with determination. In that moment, I believed the stories I had heard about lionesses protecting their cubs till death.

"We have to use the window," I decided. "We can't get it open, but – Step back!" I waited till everyone had backed away, then I seized a chair and swung it against the windowpane, jumping backwards as soon as I knew it had hit its target. Bits of glass flew everywhere, but most of it landed on the outside.

"Those people aren't the only ones who can break windows," I remarked with some satisfaction.

"Mademoiselle!" Jacques breathed in a mixture of awe and astonishment.

"Quick!" I said. "We've got to remove the remaining pieces of glass, at least the bigger ones." Larisse and Jacques had finished the task after a few minutes, with her apron and his jacket wrapped around their hands, while I thought about in which order we'd go. Yes, I was back to being in charge. Someone had to be.

"Larisse will go first," I told them. "Then the children. Jacques and I will help Madame before leaving ourselves."

The other nodded, although I didn't fail to notice that Larisse had grown pale at the news that she was to do it first. Still she gripped the windowsill with determination and climbed out. She huffed a little, yet the only help she needed was with her skirts, which threatened to get caught on the remaining pieces of glass.

"Antoinette," I said. The girl pressed a kiss to her mother's cheek, left the sofa and came over to us. Jacques picked her up from the floor clumsily – it occurred to me that it was probably the first time he was holding her in his arms – and gave her to Larisse, who placed her back on the floor outside. Who'd have believed that this would be so easy?

I was about to turn around to Philippe, but a motion made me stop. Two men jumped out of the bushes, as fast as lightning. In the next moment they had grabbed Antoinette and Larisse. I could see that they were holding pistols in their hands.

"No, no, no," one of them said, and I actually heard him suppress a chuckle. "You will stay in there. Otherwise the whole nice fire would be pointless, wouldn't it? If you try to come out…" He didn't finish his sentence, but flexed his muscles threateningly. Antoinette whimpered in terror. I stepped away from the window and motioned at Jacques to do the same. What else should I have done?


	152. Chapter One Hundred and FiftyTwo

**Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Two**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Jacqueline_

"No!" Madame let out a blood-curdling scream behind us. I spun around, but it was too late. She had already scrambled to her feet and was coming towards us, swaying like a tree in a gale. "Let her go!" she cried. "Let my child go, you – "

"Hold her back!" the man who had been talking before snarled. "Hold her back, or the girl will have an extra hole in her pretty little head!"

Jacques and I didn't need telling twice. One look into the man's face was enough to know that he was not making empty threats. We seized Madame by the arms as she hurried past us and held on to her with all our might. It was much harder than one might have expected, for she was struggling madly, twisting and shaking. Yet due to her weakened state, she couldn't go on like that for a long time. The strength soon left her, and she hung in our arms limply.

"We can't have her lie on the floor," I told Jacques in a low voice. "But the sofa's too close to the door. We should keep her as near to the window as possible. The air is also fresher there."

He nodded.

"You're right," he gave back. "Yet I'm afraid I will not be able to support her much longer. She's too… I'm not… you know." His voice trailed off, but I had understood him. Madame seemed to grow heavier by the moment.

"The floor it is, then," I decided, and we lowered her cautiously.

Hearing a soft whimper I looked over my shoulder and saw Philippe. He was still sitting on the sofa, his face was white as a ghost's, his lower lip trembling. My heart was seized by a wave of sympathy, and I rushed over to him, taking him into my arms. His whole body was shaking.

"There, there…" I muttered soothingly, but I didn't know how to go on. What could I possibly say to make this boy feel any better? Almost a decade of caring for children shrank before my very eyes. Nothing I had ever experienced could help me in the slightest.

Feeling that my shoulder was growing increasingly wet, I noticed that Philippe was crying again. Yet the tears of happiness he had shed when he had seen his mother had turned into tears of sadness and despair. I knew it because I was feeling the same. Sometimes helplessness could be useful, for it made me angry, and in my anger I often discovered that something could be done after all.

Yet now I couldn't think of anything to do, except cry myself. We were trapped in this room, with a fire raging outside the door and two criminals threatening us at the window. For a few moments I was tempted to dissolve into tears. It would be so much easier than fighting and require so little effort… But then I heard Philippe's voice.

"Are we all going to Heaven now?" he asked me in a whisper.

"No," I said simply, and that one word changed everything. We would not die. I had promised Antoinette and Philippe that those bad people wouldn't hurt them, and I intended to keep my promise. My mother hadn't raised me to be a coward. I could hear her words clearly in my head. _There's nothing cowardly about giving up once you've tried everything you could. But you must never give up before. Always remember that the women in our family are fighters._ So fight was what I'd do.

I looked up and realised that Madame was lying on the floor very quietly. Even her soft crying had stopped.

"She fainted," Jacques informed me, before I could ask. "I suspect the effort of getting up was too much for her."

I nodded absently, stroking Philippe's hair. There was something good about her being unconscious: At least she would not endanger herself by making another attempt to save Antoinette alone. This gave me a little more time for the one strategy I could think of: bargaining.

"Can't you let at least the children go?" I called to the men at the window. "They're innocent, they haven't done anything wrong. They don't deserve such a fate."

I threw the men a pleading glance, but they didn't seem to be moved. On the contrary: The man holding Larisse didn't move a muscle, whereas the one holding Antoinette, who we had been talking to before, snorted derisively.

"I grew up with six siblings," he hissed. "We were living in dirt, feeing from the scraps of the table of the rich people. We were all _innocent_. None of us _deserved such a fate_. And still we couldn't change anything about it, just like you can't change anything about your situation now. These children…" He tugged at the sleeve of Antoinette's frilly dress. The girl merely stared into space, too scared to even cry. "…have had more happiness so far than many other have in their entire life. It's time for a change, isn't it?" He grinned unpleasantly.

I bit my lip. Without intending to do so, I had added fuel to the flames, so to speak. I had reminded the man why he hated privileged people, and that hatred could easily turn into something very dangerous. I had to make him forget what we had just talked about, but I didn't know how I could do it.

It was Jacques who came to help me.

"Take me instead of the girl," he offered, standing up from where he had been kneeling on the floor. "I come out to you, and you let her go. You want to have two people, one for each of you. It doesn't matter which two." I gaped at him, the display of courage making me speechless. It was true that I'd have done the same – if I had thought of it, that was – but I'd have never expected Jacques to do it.

The man, however, didn't seem to be impressed.

"Why should we want you, old man, when we can have her?" he called, gesturing at Antoinette with his pistol. "I know people like you. You'd only try to deceive us and save your own neck. You'd come out here, and the moment your feet touch the ground, you'd run for it."

"No," Jacques protested indignantly. "All I want is help the children and their mother."

"Oh… and surely you think they'd do the same for you, don't you?" the man asked with another chuckle. "Well, let me tell you one thing: The family you're working for doesn't care about you at all. You could lie at their feet, dying, and they'd push you aside without thinking. That's why we want to keep the girl. We could kill the woman and you this moment, and the Countess wouldn't shed a tear."

I didn't pause to think about the horrible things he had said. There was just one aspect that mattered to me.

"You can let at least Larisse go then," I called. "If she matters so little…"

The moment the words had left my mouth, I knew that this time I had said something right. The man looked at Larisse for at least a minute, grinding his teeth, apparently thinking hard. I held my breath. So, as far as I could tell, did Larisse, who was very pale, yet seemed determined not to show any emotion. I knew how hard it had to be for her, hearing all the negotiating about her life.

At long last, the man nodded.

"You can let her go," he told the other man shortly. The other man stared at him incredulously. "You heard me. Let her go," the first man repeated in a very slow, but impatient voice. It underlined my suspicion that the man hadn't said anything yet because he didn't speak our language too well.

Yet now he seemed to feel the urge to express his opinion.

"Are you sure, Victor?" he asked, taking his time to form the words. "What will Master say?"

"Master will never hear about it, unless you tell him, and that is something I would not recommend," Victor gave back, the complicated phrase earning him a puzzled glance. He sighed. "I won't tell – you won't tell," he tried it again, and the other man nodded. "It wasn't part of the original plan anyway. We just have to make sure none of them escapes. But the maid's right. We don't need the cook. Besides, she has a family. Let her go."

The other man seemed to understand at least the last words, for he reluctantly removed his arm from around Larisse's waist and lowered the pistol. I was too relieved to wonder how Victor could know all these things about us.

Larisse looked around her in amazement, a faint smile on her lips, like a person waking up from a dream. Then her gaze fell upon Antoinette, and the smile faded.

"Can't you let her go instead of me?" she pleaded. Victor glared at her.

"Just go, Larisse!" I shouted. The man had already made it clear that he wouldn't let the girl go. A second attempt would probably only make him seize Larisse again as well.

The cook glanced over at me. Her eyes were shining with tears, but she nodded slowly and turned around. At least one of us was free. I could only hope she'd remember to alert M.Erik or the police or _anyone_. Yet Victor's next words made that hope shatter quickly.

"Take the coach and get her far away from here," he instructed the other man. "Take her to some remote spot outside Paris, so that she'll have to walk a few miles before she meets anyone. I don't want her to get any stupid ideas of heroism." Then he turned to Larisse. "Congratulations," he said with a smirk. "By this time tomorrow, you'll be known as the only survivor of the great fire in the de Chagny house. I hope you like being famous."

I could still hear Larisse's sobs as she was brought away.


	153. Chapter One Hundred and FiftyThree

**Author's note:** We've reached 700 reviews. Wow - that's a lot. Thank you ever so much!

**Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Three**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Larisse_

I wasn't a brave woman, nor had I ever claimed to be one. It was one of the advantages of being a cook that the worst thing that could happen to me at work was that I cut myself with a knife while preparing the food. Well, it had been like that once. These days, so many bad things were happening that I could hardly recall all of them.

Of course I had told my husband about them. He was my husband, after all. He had the right to know such things, just like I had the right to know if something dangerous happened at his working place. Only last night, he had begged me not to go back to the de Chagnys.

´You could stay home for a while, just until everything is over,´ he had suggested, looking at me with that pleading glance I found so hard to resist. ´Please, dear. It hurts me to think of what might happen to you. What would the children and I do without you?´

I had thought about it for a long time. It was not like my husband to beg for something, and it was not like me to refuse him something he wanted. And still my wish to return to the de Chagnys had been stronger. Even though I didn't know the family too long, I liked all of them. It would have been wrong to stay home while they could be facing mortal peril.

But then, at that time the thought of mortal peril had been nothing else but that – a thought. I'd have never believed that something truly dangerous would happen to us. Otherwise I wouldn't have entered the house this morning, since, as I had said before, I wasn't a brave woman.

In fact, I was absolutely terrified at the moment. I was following the path around the house to the front, with a man pressing a pistol between my shoulder blades. All the time I could only think of one thing: If only I had accepted my husband's offer and stayed home today! It would have saved me so much trouble, so much fear.

In the next moment, however, I gave myself a mental slap in the face. How could I be this selfish? I was lucky enough to have the chance to leave, whereas the others were still trapped in the house. The more time I spent outside, the more I realised just how bad the damage was. Smoke was coming out of several smashed windows on the first floor. We didn't walk past the kitchen, yet I knew that it would probably look even worse. After all, the fire had started there. Every now and then, I caught a glimpse of a man standing near the house or hiding in a bush, but none of them stopped us.

I was the only person who could do something. It was a frightening thought, and yet I knew it was true. I had to go to the opera, because that was where Gabriel and M.Erik were. I still thought there was something strange about little Philippe's teacher, but that didn't matter at the moment. If anyone could save the others, it was him. And having Gabriel would be very good as well. He was young and strong and could surely help a lot.

Yet how, _how_ was I supposed to get out of this situation? The man walking behind me had got strict instructions from the man called Victor, and I had no doubt that he'd carry them out. He'd push me into a coach and take me far away from here, without giving me the slightest chance of finding the opera. Surely I wouldn't be able to jump out of the moving coach either. I had barely managed to get out of the window in the living room.

Something had to be done, and it had to be done now, before we reached the coach. But what? I had to think fast, for we already were on the path leading to the gates. Twenty more steps, and we'd have left the estate behind. It would have been much easier if I had just been able to call for help, but I knew better than to try that. This wasn't exactly a lively neighbourhood after sunset, and it wasn't very likely that someone would walk by and see us, let alone realise what was happening.

At last I had an idea. Now all I needed was courage.

´Jacqueline would do it,´ I told myself. ´Gabriel would do it as well. Even Jacques would probably do it. So I can do it as well. For once in my life, I have to be brave!´

And then I did it, my heart racing and my mouth very dry. I pretended to trip over y stone on the path and stumbled. So did the man behind me. His legs tangled with mine, and he crashed to the ground. It all went exactly the way I had planned it… except for the tiny detail that in my plan, I had managed to step aside in time. It hadn't worked like that in reality. The man had fallen, yes. But I was lying under him, face down.

I suppressed a cry of pain and forced myself to remain calm. This had turned out to be a little different from what I had expected, but it didn't mean that my whole plan had failed. I could still grab the pistol, just like I had planned… once I had found out where it was. Due to the fact that I was lying on the ground, I couldn't see very well. All I could tell for certain was that the pistol was not lying directly in front of me.

With great effort I lifted my head… and saw it. The pistol was lying about thirty feet away from us. I stretched out my arm, but naturally it was much too short. To make things worse, the man, who seemed to have been too shocked by the fall to react for a few moments, came to his senses again. He uttered a stream of what I assumed were swear words in a language I didn't know and tried to get up.

Instinctively I knew what to do: I groped behind me till I could grab one of his arms and held on to it. I couldn't reach the pistol myself, but the man shouldn't get it either. Who knew what he'd do with it, now that I had made him angry?

The man made a surprised sound and tried to shake me off, yet I only tightened my grip. Still I couldn't hold him back completely. He scrambled to his feet, cursing and muttering. I was clinging to his lower arm, the power of my grip dragging my upper body upwards as well. I mustn't let go of him. I mustn't.

And then, within a moment, everything changed. A woman appeared out of nowhere, spotted the pistol on the ground and seized it. At once, our struggle ceased as both the man and I stared at her. Then the man's face split into a grin.

"Thank you, Mistress," he said, panting slightly. "Now you can give pistol to me, please."

I swallowed hard, realising with a sinking feeling in my stomach that the woman obviously belonged to the group of criminals. I'd never be able to fight against both of them, especially not now that they had a weapon. Feeling discouraged, I loosened my grip, and the man freed his arm.

He stretched out his hand to take the pistol, but the woman made ne move to hand it to him. Instead, she aimed it at him. I couldn't believe my eyes.

"No," she replied simply. "I won't give it to you. I…" She hesitated for a moment. "I want you to go, Lazlo. I want you to go and never come back. Everything is over, do you understand?"

The man shook his head, a blank expression on his face. I couldn't blame him. I didn't understand anything either, and I didn't have any problems with the language.

"Just go!" the woman hissed, brandishing the pistol. "Or do you want me to…?"

Again, the man shook his head, staring at the pistol like a mouse staring at a cat.

"I… go…" he stammered, breaking into a run. A few moments later, the gate swung shut behind him.

"Thank you," I murmured, coming to my feet slowly. To my enormous relief, the woman had taken down the pistol the moment the man had gone. "Thank you for saving me… Who are you?"

"There's not time now," she said hastily, looking around her. "Just tell me what's going on!"

So I told her. When I was finished, she asked:

"So there's someone at the Opéra Populaire who could help us?". I nodded, marvelling at the casual use of ´us.´. "You've got to go there," the woman decided. "We need all the help we can get. Let's see… I've noticed our coach outside," she mused in a low voice. "Pierre should be the driver. He'll take you to the opera. Come!"

We hurried down the path and through the gate. Sure enough, a coach was standing there, an old, rickety coach, pulled by an old, tired horse. A young man was standing next to it. His eyes widened as he saw the girl.

"Mistress!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here? You weren't supposed to know… How did you get in?"

"I climbed over the fence while you were looking the other way," she replied. "The rest is not important now. Take this woman to the Opéra Populaire."

"What?" the man asked. "But I mustn't leave. I have to wait for the others to come back. What would Master say?"

"Please," the woman begged in a very soft voice. "I once heard you say that you'd do anything for me. Is that no longer true?"

"Of course it is," he replied indignantly. "Get in," he added in my direction, and I hastened to comply before his fear of the man called Master could gain the upper hand once more. Yet I made sure that I was still able to listen to the conversation, for I found it most interesting.

"… thought you didn't know about my feelings," the man muttered.

"I knew it all the time," the woman gave back. "I couldn't help noticing the way you look at me."

"But Master – "

She stifled his objection with a kiss.

"Don't worry about him," she whispered when it ended.

The kiss seemed to have been all the encouragement he needed, for he entered the coachbox at once. Before we could leave however, I leaned towards the woman.

"Can't you just make all the men go away?" I asked her. "They listen to you."

"Lazlo does, because he's new in the group and thinks he has to obey everyone," she explained. "And Pierre does, because he's in love with me. But the others… If it had been Victor coming around the house with you, he'd have laughed into my face and wrenched the pistol out of my hand." She sighed. "Do come back quickly. I don't know how much I'll be able to do."

The coach had already started moving, but I had to ask one more question.

"Why are you doing all this? Why are you helping us?"

"What else could I do?" the woman asked sadly. "All this is happening because of me."


	154. Chapter One Hundred and FiftyFour

**Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Four**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Jacqueline_

The minutes passed by slowly, and nothing happened. Of course, in our case nothing was preferrable to most things that could have happened. So far, the living room was not on fire. Still, more and more smoke was getting in through the crack beneath the door. It made us cough. Those were the only sounds I heard, expect for the occasional noise of breaking glass as yet another window on the first floor was smashed.

I couldn't bring myself to care too much about windows, though. What was the point in being worried? Nothing could be done anyway. I hadn't tried talking to Victor again, sensing it would have only made him angrier. Sometimes I looked over to him and saw that Antoinette was hanging in his arms like a big doll, with her eyes closed. She didn't seem to think about fighting, so why should I? I was feeling so very tired.

On my lap, Philippe had already fallen asleep. At the beginning, I had still stroked his hair, but now my hand had become too heavy. Well, he probably hadn't noticed it anyway. He was asleep, dreaming of green meadows with sheep on them, of trees and flowers, of birds singing cheerful songs in the branches and the buzzing of bees…

"Mademoiselle Jacqueline?"

I opened my eyes, though I couldn't remember having closed them. Tiredly, I looked up and saw Jacques standing in front of me.

"What?" I muttered, not caring that I sounded unfriendly. Why couldn't he let me sleep?

"You have to stand up and go to the window," he explained gently. "This sofa is too close to the door. Once the door starts becoming consumed by the fire…" He shook his head. "Come with me…"

He took Philippe in his arms and carried him away. I made a feeble attempt to follow him, but my legs were just as heavy as my arms, and I couldn't move them properly. Why should I even want to move? The sofa was nice and soft, and going away from it seemed foolish. Why should I do so? Jacques had said something about a door, but I couldn't recall what it had been. All I wanted was sleep. I'd still be able to think about that door when I'd wake up.

A hand landed on my shoulder and shook it roughly, just as I was about to doze off. Jacques was there yet again.

"You have to stand up," he repeated urgently.

"I want to sleep," I muttered. The words seemed to need a very long time till they actually left my mouth. "Please… let me sleep…"

"No," he said firmly. "You mustn't sleep. It's the smoke… it's doing something to us. But we mustn't give in."

The smoke? Oh yes, the smoke. I had completely forgotten about it. There was smoke in the room. Where did it come from? I couldn't tell. I was too sleepy to think about it. Perhaps it had something to do with that mysterious door he had talked about before.

I felt a tug at my arm and realised that Jacques was trying to pull me to my feet. How strong he was… My arm didn't seem to be as heavy for him as it felt for me.

"Help me!" he said, breathing hard. "We have to get away from the door… the fire…"

Fire? It was as if a veil was lifted in front of my eyes, and I could see clearly again. My mind was still feeling a little dizzy, as if I had spent last night drinking far too much alcohol, but I tried hard to stay focused and not to let myself drift off again.

In the same moment, panic spread through my body. The fire! We had to get away! Clutching the armrest for support with my other hand, I managed to come into an upright position.

"Very good," Jacques praised me breathlessly, wrapping an arm around my waist to keep me from sinking down onto the sofa again. "I won't let go of you until we have reached the window," he promised, and I was grateful for it, since it turned out that even placing one foot in front of the other was much more difficult than usual today.

"It is my fault," he said as we made our way through the room slowly. "I should have never allowed you to stay on the sofa for such a long time. I should have realised sooner how dangerous it was. But I must have nodded off myself."

"How is Madame?" I asked him.

"She is still unconscious," he replied. "I dragged her as close to the window as I could."

"That was very good," I commented. "At least one of us did something sensible…" My voice trailed off as I stared at the floor, pretending to look where I was going. I couldn't help feeling embarrassed because I had simply allowed myself to fall asleep.

"Don't blame yourself for something you had no influence on," Jacques told me in a kind voice I had rarely heard him use before. "The only reason why I woke up again that quickly is that I was closer to the window that you. The fresh air will do you good as well, you'll see."

As soon as we reached the window, I realised he had been right. I took large lungfuls of deliciously fresh air, and they seemed to revive my entire body and mind. The sleepiness vanished, and my limbs shrank to their normal weight. I straightened up.

"Thank you," I muttered, turning around to Jacques. "I think I can stand alone now."

"Are you sure?" he asked, removing his arm from around my waist very slowly.

I nodded. The fresh air had indeed worked wonders.

"Where's Philippe?" I wanted to know, as soon as my mind had recovered enough to allow me to think.

"Over there," Jacques answered, pointing at two huddled forms on the floor, a few steps away from us. "I'd have held him up to the window as well, but I thought it better to remove you from harm's reach first," he explained. "So I put him next to his mother."

"He looks so peaceful," I remarked softly, taking in the relaxed expression on his face. I remembered him crying at my shoulder. He seemed so much happier now.

"But he cannot remain on the floor," Jacques argued. "He needs to have fresh air as well."

"And Madame, too," I added. "We could hold her upright together."

He nodded.

"We should begin with Philippe, since he is a child," he suggested. He went over to him, picked him up in his arms – I noticed that he was getting rather good at it – and carried him to me.

"Philippe?" I called gently. "Wake up, dear."

It took him longer than it had taken me to recover, but after a few minutes he opened his eyes.

"Maman?" he breathed.

"She's right over there," I assured him, stroking his hair, while Jacques held him towards the window. Slowly, a little colour returned to the boy's face, making him look less like a ghost and more like a healthy child.

"If you hold Philippe for a while, I'll try to wake up Madame," the butler said. "Perhaps she'll feel good enough to walk. Then I'll help her to the window. It can't be good for her to lie on the floor all the time."

"Yes, give him to me," I agreed, stretching out my arms. "Did you hear it, Philippe? Your Maman will come to us." A shy smile appeared on his face.

The boy was just in mid-air between us, when a voice yelled

"I don't believe it!".

Jacques was so startled that he nearly dropped Philippe. I took the child into my arms quickly, and we all turned to stare at the source of the voice. It was Victor, and he was brandishing the pistol again. For a few blissful minutes, I had almost forgotten that he was there. I had known all the time why we couldn't leave the room through the window, but the reason had slipped my mind.

"We didn't do anything," I tried to justify myself. "We just – "

"You just thought you could smuggle the boy out of the house the moment my back was turned on you," Victor snarled. "I should have known that the old man and you would mean nothing but trouble for me. Perhaps I should just shoot you now, before you can do any real harm to Master's plan. I'm sure he wouldn't mind…"

He raised his pistol and aimed it at me.

"No!" I screamed, but I was not the only one. Philippe and Jacques had cried the same word. So had Antoinette, who had started struggling to free herself out of the man's grasp.

Yet there had been someone else's voice mingled with ours… a woman's. A brief glance at Madame told me that she was still unconscious, though. I looked out of the window again and saw that Victor was staring over his shoulder. Someone, presumably the woman who had shouted, had appeared behind him, but I couldn't see her. Victor was too tall and also too wide.

"You don't belong here, Mistress," he said calmly. "You should have stayed at home like a good girl and let the men do the work instead of turning up here with a pistol."

"I won't sit at home and let you murder innocent people," the woman called. "This has gone much too far already. Let Antoinette go… now!"

By now, I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of the woman. I was sure that I knew her voice from somewhere, but I couldn't recall where I had heard it. But then, it didn't matter, did it? It wasn't important who she was, as long as she helped us.

"You'd never dare shoot me," Victor spat, but I noticed a slight tremble in his voice. He turned around to look at the woman, probably to see whether she meant what she said. It wasn't more than a moment's inattentiveness, but Antionette seized her chance. A loud yell echoed through the garden, and Victor jumped on the spot, holding his arm into the air. His hand was red. My clever little girl had bitten him.

Antoinette landed on the ground on all fours, but came to her feet quickly. She hurried over to the woman and hid behind her. I only had a moment to wonder about why she trusted her so readily, before Victor approached the two, cursing loudly. Involuntarily I clapped my hands over Philippe's ears. I felt his body grow rigid in my arms and thought he was scared, yet just the contrary was the case. The woman jerked her head into our direction, and for a moment we could see her face.

Everything fell into place. I understood why Antoinette had hidden behind her, and I understood Philippe's behaviour. I understood it… but it didn't make any sense. It couldn't be…

"Marielle!" Philippe called cheerfully.

**Author's note:** For obvious reasons, I didn't put this note at the beginning of the chapter. So, now you all know who did it. Are you surprised or did you already guess it ten chapters ago? Tell me! Thanks to everyone who sent in a guess! They all were very creative and would have made fantastic stories. And congratulations to the winner… **Phantom-Jedi 1**! Please contact me, so that we'll be able to talk about the story you want me to write for you.


	155. Chapter One Hundred and FiftyFive

**Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Five**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Jacqueline_

The woman didn't look over to us when Philippe called her name, nor did she show any other sign that she had heard him at all. She was too busy gazing at Victor, who in turn was gazing at her. For a moment I thought the boy had been wrong, but the longer I looked at her, the more certain I grew myself, even though I could only see her face in profile. I had worked with that woman for years, after all.

But oh – how much she had changed in the weeks since the last time she had been here! Her hair, which had always been so neatly braided, hung down loosely now. Her clothes were dirty, though not half as dirty as those of the man standing opposite her. It didn't take a lot of imagination to work out that she had not found a new occupation after Madame had dismissed her, and I felt a sharp pang of guilt in my stomach because I had been the bearer of the bad news for her back then.

Moreover, she had been dismissed for something I had done, no matter how much I tried to forget that fact. I had been the one passing on information to M.Erik, and she had paid the price for it. When I had tried to make Madame change her mind, she had merely muttered something about Marielle having confessed. Personally, I couldn't believe that. How could she have confessed anything when I was the guilty one?

Having reached this rather unpleasant point, I readily brought my attention back to the present and realised that I had obviously missed the start of a conversation between Marielle and Victor. I exchanged a glance with Jacques, which told me that he had recognised her as well, and motioned at both him and Philippe to remain silent. Surely Marielle could talk to Victor far better than anyone of us. After all, she already seemed to know him.

"You'd never dare hurt me," he was just saying, straightening up to his full height and glancing at her defiantly. "I'm the best man Master has got! What would he do without me?"

"He'd find someone else to do his dirty work for him!" Marielle replied, apparently not impressed. "Don't make the mistake to think yourself special in any way! There are plenty of men like you out there."

"Master and I have a special relationship," Victor argued. "We've known each other for years… years in which you weren't there for him!"

"Because he was in prison, and so were you!" she cried instantly. It didn't sound as if they were having this argument for the first time. "But don't believe that he befriended you because you're such a fantastic person! He was just looking for a new… henchman, who'd do anything he wanted. And I think he had found just the right man! Do you still have a mind of your own at all?"

Even though she probably couldn't see it, I threw Marielle a pleading glance, asking her to hurry up a little. She was no step closer to freeing us than she had been when she had first arrived here. Why was she having this stupid argument now, when our lives were at stake, when Antoinette was clinging to her skirt?

Looking at the girl, I saw something that made me gasp: While she was talking, Marielle lifted her foot slightly off the ground and kicked Antoinette's shin. The girl seemed to be just as confused as I was… until the second kick was placed at the same spot, accompanied by a jerking of Marielle's head. Antoinette and I understood it in the same moment. The whole point of the argument was to give the girl the chance to run for it, while Marielle distracted Victor.

It was a brilliant plan, and Antoinette complied readily. She moved away so quiety that not a single footstep could be heard from over the shouting of the other two people, and she always stayed behind Marielle. As long as Victor didn't move to the side, he'd never spot her, and Marielle's pistol made sure that he stayed where he was.

"Of course I have an own mind!" Victor shouted angrily, his face growing red. "I have made a lot of decisions of my own, and Master approves of them."

"He approves of them?" Marielle called with a derisive laugh. "You mean he doesn't know about them, and you hope he'll never find out. He doesn't want anyone to make decisions, except for himself. That's why he chose you. He knew you'd stupid enough never to question him."

"At least I'm not one of those rebels, such as Pierre!" the man spat, shuddering in disgust.

I had no idea who he was referring to, but sensed it couldn't be his mostly silent companion, for he had been anything but a rebel. A momentary look of panic crossed Marielle's face, yet she hid it quickly. It was clear that she knew exactly who Pierre was, but her opinion on him was completely different from Victor's.

"Better a rebel than a coward!" she gave back. "Pierre might have done a few things wrong in his life, but he can still think for himself, which is more than can be said about _some_ of you men."

I'd have listened to the argument longer, but in that moment, Jacques tapped me on the shoulder. Stealthily he pointed at Antoinette, who was just vanishing around the corner. I nodded to indicate that I had noticed it, too. Once the girl would be out in the street, she'd be safe. She'd surely go to one of the neighbours, none of whom would deny the charming little de Chagny girl entry. Hopefully they'd show enough presence of mind to alert the police at once.

Jacques then gestured at Madame, and I understood what he meant. The two people outside were still arguing, completely oblivious to what was going on in here. While this didn't mean that we could have left the house, we could very well bring Madame to the window. I didn't like it that she was still unconscious. It was almost as bad as the time when she had been on the doorstep, though she at least stirred every now and then.

I put Philippe down onto the floor and motioned at him to be quiet. Then Jacques and I walked the few steps to the woman on the floor, kneeled down on either side of her and took one arm each. Madame moved her head from one side to the other, yet her eyes remained closed.

"We have to wake her up," I whispered. "We can't carry her like we carried her into this room. She needs to stand. Madame?" I went on in a voice only marginally louder, but more urgent than before.

It seemed that the constant shouting had already prepared her well for waking up, since I only had to repeat the name two or three times before she opened her eyes.

"Jacqueline?" she muttered. "Where's Philippe? And… Antoinette!" Her eyes widened in alarm, and she tried to get up. Jacques and I seized her by the shoulders and pressed her back onto the floor gently. I was delighted that she could speak normally again, but her last words had been much too loud, and I was afraid that Marielle and Victor could have heard her. We all listened breathlessly for a few moments, yet the argument seemed to be going on just like it had before.

"We've got to keep our voices down, or they'll hear us," I informed her hastily. "Antoinette is fine. She managed to escape, just a few minutes ago. And they let Larisse go with one of the men. Philipe is fine as well. He's standing at the window."

The relief about so many good news was clearly visible on Madame's face. It made her look much healthier than before. Yet suddenly she frowned and asked:

"If Larisse, Antoinette and one of the men are gone, who is the other man talking to then? I'm sure I hear a woman's voice…".

"Well… that is a little complicated, and I have to admit that don't understand it myself," I replied with an apologetic smile. "But perhaps it'll be best to tell you before we help you get up, or it might startle you." I took a deep breath. "Madame… that woman you hear is… she is… it's Marielle."

"Marielle?" she repeated blankly, looking just as puzzled as I had felt at first. "Marielle, who used to be Philippe's maid?"

"The very same," Jacques assured her. "Yet I'm afraid I cannot tell you either why she is here."

"She just… turned up," I added. "She… she saved me from being shot by Victor… the man still standing outside. And she distracted him, so that Antoinette could run away. I have no idea why she's here, but as long as she's on our side, that doesn't matter, does it?"

"I suppose so," Madame muttered, frowning. It was clear that she was thinking about something important, but wasn't willing to talk about it yet. "Could you help me get up now? I want to see Philippe."

It soon turned out that being unconscious seemed to have been good for Madame's recovery. She still needed a lot of support from Jacques and me to stand up from the floor, but once she was on her feet, she managed to walk with just a little help.

"Maman!" Philippe whispered, embracing her so forcefully that she almost fell over. Fortunately Jacques had still been holding her arm. She kissed the boy on the top of his head, but straightened up again quickly, squeezing her eyes shut.

"My head…" she groaned, reaching up to touch her temple cautiously.

"Take deep breaths," I advised her in a low voice. "It'll be better in a few moments."

Madame followed my instructions, and indeed it seemed to work. Having made sure that Jacques was there to help her if it was necessary, I returned my attention to the argument, which obviously still had the same subject as before.

"You just don't understand Master the way I do!" Victor called. "That's why you're always against his plans."

"The problem is that I understand his plans only too well," Marielle gave back, sounding almost resigned. "They're horrible and cruel. Only an evil mind such as yours can enjoy carrying them out. They make me sick."

"A most interesting statement," a cold voice remarked. In the next moment, a man came around the corner, followed by two other men, who held the struggling Antoinette between them. My heart sank.

The argument of Marielle and Victor ended instantly as they both turned around to the man who had spoken.

"Master!" Victor called, sounding thoroughly delighted.

Marielle, on the other hand, grew pale.

"Father…" she breathed.


	156. Chapter One Hundred and FiftySix

**Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Six**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Christine_

I heard Jacqueline gasp in shock at the revelation that the strange man Victor had addressed as ´Master´ was Marielle's father, but I myself was not surprised. Thinking had become much easier for me since I was inhaling the fresh air at the window, and I could recall a conversation I had had with Erik a few weeks ago. It had been one of the first conversations we had had in years. Erik had told me that I had been wrong in accusing Marielle and that the only thing she was guilty of was having criminals for relatives… particularly her father, who had still been in prison at that time. Well, it seemed that he was free now. And he had come here.

"What is going on, Victor?" he demanded, marching over to him, completely ignoring his daughter. "First I arrive at the gate, and our coach is gone. Then I walk up the path, only to find that the house isn't nearly as badly damaged as I had wanted it to be at this time. And when I draw nearer, I stumble over this little girl. Would you be so kind as to explain this to me?" His voice was dangerously soft, and the effect on Victor was worse than a slap in the face. He looked as if he were close to throwing himself at his master's feet, begging for mercy.

"I don't know why the house isn't more damaged…" he croaked. His Adam's apple was bobbing up and down as he swallowed hard. "We started the attack just the way you told us to. Perhaps… perhaps it's the wind. Yes, the wind!" He looked at Marielle's father, as if asking for approval, yet he just sneered at him.

"The wind – of course," he said. "Why didn't I think of it myself… Fool!" he suddenly snarled, making Victor jump. The wind would make the house burn more quickly, not more slowly! And do you also blame the wind for letting this child escape?"

His gaze wandered over to the house, over to us. To the casual observer, it would have appeared that the accusations were over, yet I could sense that the worst was yet to come. So could Victor, who was trembling from head to toe.

"You let them break the window?" Marielle's father asked softly. "You just stood there and let them break the window? Why didn't you also help them escape while you were at it?" He looked at each of us, frowning slightly. I forced myself to stare at him defiantly, even though the effort of standing and listening all the time was slowly starting to take its toll. I was feeling rather shaky. "Where's the cook?" he finally wanted to know. "Where's the coachman? And where's the other man, the one who always was with the Countess? They should all be in there!"

One of the men who had come with Marielle's father stepped forward, leaving Antoinette with his companion.

"If I may say something, Master…" he began.

Marielle's father nodded curtly.

"You know I was positioned at the house all day, so I can tell you about the comings and goings," the man went on. "The man you were talking about left the house this morning and has not returned. It was Pierre's task to follow the Countess and him. Perhaps it would be a good idea to ask him."

"Pierre's not here," Marielle's father said shortly, glaring at the man. He didn't seem to be too fond of other people making suggestions on what he should do. "He was in the coach, and the coach has disappeared. He probably left for the nearest shop to get himself something to drink, the lazy…" He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Go on."

"The coachman left a few minutes before we began the assault," the man informed him. I noticed that he was talking more slowly and choosing his words more carefully now. "We could have stopped him by using violence, but it would have disturbed your plan. We could have hardly put the Countess on the stairs to lure the other people out of the kitchen if the coachman had been screaming his lungs out in front of the house. But the cook…" He scratched his head thoughtfully. "…she should be here. She entered the house in the morning, just like she always does, and has not left it."

"So she should be here," Marielle's father concluded. "You there!" he suddenly called into our direction. "Are you hiding the cook somewhere in there?"

Jacqueline, Jacques and I shook our heads. There was nothing else we could have done.

"Then she must have escaped, just like the little girl, but with more success," he concluded, rounding on Victor again. "I gave you a simple task. You were supposed to stand here and make sure no one escaped through one of the windows. However, a window _is_ broken, and one person _has_ escaped. Could you explain this to me, please?"

I had never heard someone speak in such a cold voice. It made the little hairs in my arms stand up. Philippe was shaking slightly, and I pressed his body closer to mine. Victor was shaking as well, more badly than ever. His legs were banging together, and the pistol slipped out of his hand and landed on the ground. He kneeled down and wanted to pick it up, yet a foot placed on his lower back kept him from standing up again.

"You get up when I say so!" Marielle's father snarled, towering over him. "But first you will tell me how a plan I had developed so carefully could go so very wrong."

"I… I let the cook go," Victor admitted hastily. "B-but I thought it w-was what you'd have wanted as well, Master. She's one of the s-servants, and she wasn't even there when your d-daughter was mistreated. So I as-assumed…"

"It's not your place to assume anything," Marielle's father hissed, giving Victor a kick in the back. He gave a cry of pain, and Philippe whimpered. Quickly I pressed his head against my chest, muttering words of comfort. In that moment, I actually preferred being in here. Our hopes of getting out of this house alive dwindled with every minute that passed, but at least we were not in the company of a lunatic. I was just worried about the well-being of my daughter, yet one glance at her told me that she would not try anything stupid. She stayed perfectly still as the man held her close, her eyes fixed on the figure on the ground. I wished I could have taken her into my arms as well.

"It's not your place," Marielle's father repeated, underlining his words with another kick. "What if she'll go to the police?"

"She won't!" Victor cried. "She can't! I… I sent Lazlo with her. He'll take her f-far away from here. T-that's why the coach is gone."

"Maybe you're not that stupid after all," Marielle's father said softly. Sighing in relief, Victor tried to get to his feet, but was pushed down mercilessly. "I'm not finished with you. What about the girl? Did you send her away as well? Who'd have been next – she?" He pointed directly at me, and my heart skipped a beat. "Don't you understand anything?" he called. "Every single one of them deserves what they get, in one way or the other. The Countess is the worst of all, for she dismissed my daughter, even though she had done nothing wrong. But the other ones are nearly as bad. None of the tried to defend my Marielle. And the children are the source of all the trouble. Does no one but me understand it?" He looked around at his henchmen. None of the dared react.

"No, Father," Marielle said calmly. He stared at her, as if he had completely forgotten that she was there as well. "None of us can understand it, for your reasoning only makes sense to yourself. Yes, Madame dismissed me, but I was not as innocent as you make it sound. By the time she caught me, I had already passed on information and the key to the back door to my brother, and if he hadn't left the country for Italy, he'd have surely used them. But even if I had been wholly innocent, this punishment would have been too much. This isn't one of your usual burglaries, Father. You're about to commit murder."

"I can't believe that you're still trying to defend that woman!" her father cried shrilly. His gaze, which had been upon his daughter, darted to me again. "After all that she has done to you! She gave you a good job, only to take it away from you!"

"Exactly, Father," Marielle said. "Don't you see? She gave me a good job. Not many other women would have done that. I lived with these people for years… years that you spent in prison, far away from me. Antoinette and Philippe are like my own children to me. Jacqueline and Jacques are like my brother and sister. And the Comte and Madame… they're like my parents, as young as they may be. These people are more of a family than you ever were. I love them. How can you assume that knowing them dead would make me happy?"

For a moment, there was absolute silence, as everyone stared at Marielle.

"I'm so sorry!" someone called all of a sudden. It took me a moment to realise it had been me, and another moment to notice that there were tears running down my cheeks. "I thought you had betrayed me," I went on. "And after I had found out the truth, I was too much of a coward to even talk to you again. If I had known how much we all mean to you…"

Words failed me. Marielle came over to me, and I leaned out of the window, so that we could embrace.

"Look who's here again, Philippe," I said when we let go of each other.

"Marielle!" he exclaimed, just like he had done it a few minutes ago. "Have you come to save us? Why didn't you answer when I called you before?"

"I was busy," she replied, reaching over to stroke his hair. "But I'm here now."

"Yes, you are," the cold voice of her father called behind her. "And that's where you'll stay. You've made a decision. If you think those people are your family, you shall burn with them! I have no use for a daughter who betrays me! Get inside!" I saw his eyes flash with anger and shivered. This man was insane, there was no doubt about it.

Without a word of protest, Marielle complied, climbing through the window and standing between Jacqueline and me. She had indeed made a decision.

"You don't have to do this for us," I started, but she interrupted me.

"I'm doing this for myself as much as for you," she told me seriously. "I could never live with the guilt of having killed you all. Perhaps we can still find a way of getting out of here. And if not… I'd rather die with you than live with my father." We embraced again, both our faces wet with tears.

"So, Countess." The voice of Marielle's father made us look outside again. "Another person who'll die because of you. And there's nothing you can do about it. You used to have so many protectors, and still you're all alone. Where are they now?"

"Here!" two voices sounded out of the bushes.


	157. Chapter One Hundred and FiftySeven

**Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Seven**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_the Opera Ghost_

Actually I hardly knew what I was doing here, at this house, in the bushes. Everything had happened so very quickly in the last hours. It was no wonder that I needed a few moments to think about it in order to comprehend it.

Not even an hour ago, I had still been in the middle of considering what to do with those insolent chorus girls when a man had approached me in the corridor where I had been standing. He had beamed at me as if I were an old and dear friend he had been longing to meet.

"I was afraid I'd have to look for you in the whole building, M.Erik!" he had exclaimed. "But instead, I walk around the corner, and there you are!"

"Do I know you?" I had asked, thinking that maybe he had thought me to be someone else. But then, with my appearance that was hardly imaginable. Besides, he wasn't the first person to address me as Erik today.

"Of course you do, Monsieur," he had replied. "I'm Gabriel, the coachman of the de Chagnys. Is Madame here as well, or hasn't she found you yet?"

I had simply shaken my head. The man had gone on and on talking, telling me that he had been sent to look for me and that I had been supposed to come with him. I had listened and listened, trying to take in all he had said. It had been very strange. Did people really talk to me like that these days? The man had spoken with respect, just like Mme.Giry or one of the managers would have done it, but he had also been… friendly. There was no other term to describe it. He had talked to me like to a friend. Very strange indeed.

We had stood there for a while, talking and listening respectively, and I had half made up my mind to accompany him, when a woman had come running down the corridor. The man and she had seemed to know each other, for they had launched into a heated conversation right away. I had given up trying to understand it almost instantly. It had been simply too complicated with two people talking instead of one, making comments on things I had no idea of.

The conversation had not been long. After just a few minutes, the woman had addressed me.

"You've got to come with us now, M.Erik," she had said urgently.

I had been too surprised by being talked to like that to react at first, so she had simply grabbed my hand and tried to drag me along with her. Such a behaviour had puzzled me even more. People who wished to remain alive did not treat me like a stubborn child.

My other hand had flown to the Punjab Lasso at once, yet a look into the woman's eyes had held me back. She had looked utterly terrified, but also determined. I had sensed that she'd have done whatever she could have to make me come with her, so I had given in. Moreover, I had planned to go to the de Chagny house anyway, and if there had been one thing I had understood from the conversation, it had been that they had wanted me to accompany them to exactly that house. And the chorus girls would still be there tomorrow, just as insolent as today.

So we had left the opera together. A coach had been waiting for us at the entrance. It had been a very old coach, and I had hesitated for a moment, since I was used to more elegant forms of travelling. Yet the woman had pulled me along by the hand she had still been holding, and I hadn't even made an attempt to kill her. The Opera Ghost – or rather, the M.Erik – they knew didn't seem to do such things, and although it was a drastic change, I didn't mind at all.

During the journey, both the man and the woman had tried to make me remember things which they had claimed had happened in the last few days, but the success had been very limited. Every now and then, their words had made pictures of beggars or a bag of bloody intestines flash up in my mind, but I hadn't been able to hold onto them. It had been a rather frustrating experience for all of us.

When we had arrived at the gates of a huge house, we had found them blocked by another coach, from which a man had just emerged.

"Thank you very much for bringing me here!" he had called cheerfully at the driver. "You have no idea how much you've helped me!"

Watching the man walk to the gate and pull it open, I had suddenly felt a powerful wave of antipathy. I hadn't been sure who that man had been, but it had been clear that I did not like him.

"M. le Comte!" the woman had addressed him, and the man had turned around to face us.

"Larisse, Gabriel…" he had said slowly, a frown appearing on his face. "What are you doing here? And you!" He had looked at me, and I had seen the same feeling I had had in his eyes. This had been the Vicomte, there had been no doubt about it. "Why aren't you inside, protec- Oh my God!"

He and I had looked over to the house in the same moment. There was smoke coming from it in thick clouds, and flames were licking at the roof.

"What's going on?" the Vicomte had wanted to know, his face almost as white as the shirt he had been wearing. "Where are Christine and the children?"

"They're inside, together with Jacqueline and Jacques," the woman called Larisse had replied. "Terrible things have happened since you left, Monsieur." She had repeated everything she had already told me in the coach, and the Vicomte had grown even paler. "And now those… people have set the house on fire," she had finished. "Madame and everyone else are in the living room, but they can't get out through the windows because there is a man standing in front of them, a man with a pistol! He let me go, and I went to the opera to fetch M.Erik right away. It's so good that you're here as well. Together, you'll be able to – "

Nothing could have prepared me for what had happened next. In one moment, the Vicomte and I had still been listening to Larisse, and in the next, his fist had collided with my face. Fortunately he had hit the masked side, which was why he had been howling in pain as his knuckles came into contact with the smooth porcellain.

"I told you to protect them!" he had yelled, preparing himself to strike again. "I even allowed you to live in the house. If I had known you'd leave them alone…"

This time, I had seen his fist coming and seized him by the wrist quickly, while my free hand had fumbled for my Punjab Lasso. Perhaps I had indeed become a little more friendly towards other people in the time I couldn't recall, but I'd never let this man hit me.

"Messieurs!" the man called Gabriel had said sharply, stepping between us. "Stop it this instant."

"Yes, stop it," Larisse had agreed. "M.Erik didn't leave your family alone for such a long time because he wanted it. He… there's something wrong with him… with his mind, I mean. He doesn't seem to remember anything that had happened recently."

"Really?" the Vicomte had asked, massaging the wrist I had just let go of. "He seems just the same to me. How – ?"

"Can we discuss that later, please?" Larisse had interrupted him. "We've got to save the others. You can still talk or hit each other later."

I had nodded absent-mindedly, secretly thinking that next time, I'd be the one to have the first punch. I did have my pride, after all. Still I had followed the Vicomte around the house without further comment, although I wasn't sure why I had been doing so.

So that was how I had come to crouch in this bush. Even as I thought about it now, it sounded absurd. But then, the truth often did.

One thing was certain: There were indeed people here who needed help. I had seen them as I had crept into the bush. They were standing at the window of what I assumed was the living room, looking frightened. I had seen the reason as well. The whole house around them was on fire. Thick grey smoke was billowing out of windows on the first floor, and there also were flames dancing on the windowpanes on the ground floor. The living room seemed to be the only one that wasn't on fire yet.

Involuntarily, I was seized by a wave of something I rarely felt: pity. I didn't know any of those people I could hardly see from my position close to the ground, but I wasn't indifferent towards them. There seemed to be something like a bond between them and me, a bond that was pulling me towards them. I didn't want them to die. One of them was just a boy, and there was a girl as well, held outside by a huge man. And one of the women inside was… I pushed a few leaves aside to get a better look. Yes, it was Christine. At least her I'd recognise anywhere.

"You're too late!" a man in the middle of the group called as the Vicomte and I leapt out of the bushes with a shout. It was the man who had spoken before, the one that had shouted so loudly that approaching the people without being spotted hadn't been a problem for us. "I won't let you come here and spoil my plan, after all that I've done! I won't allow it!"

I was about to reply that it was hardly his place to decide whether I saved Christine, when I saw the pistol in his hand and grew more cautious. The Vicomte approached him from the other side, yet the man pointed his pistol at him.

"You won't get them!" he yelled, his voice breaking. "I'll rather shoot them all!" With these words he turned and aimed his pistol right at the boy. He was so small that only half of his head was visible, but I didn't fail to notice the fear in his eyes. He looked at me, and his pleading glance shot directly into my heart.

It was as if a switch was being turned inside my head. A blur of images and sounds rushed past me, and then I saw clearly again. I didn't know why I had left the present behind or how I had done so, but it was a fact that I was needed here and now. Philippe needed me. My godson needed me. Without pausing to think, I threw myself against the man, knocking him to the ground. In that moment, I was back to being…

…_Erik._


	158. Chapter One Hundred and FiftyEight

**Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Eight**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Jacqueline_

It all seemed to happen very slowly. Holding my breath, I watched M.Erik knock Marielle's father to the ground, sending the pistol flying into one of the bushes. For a full minute, no one reacted, but simply gazed at the two men struggling on the ground.

"What are you waiting for, Victor?" Marielle's father finally cried. "Seize him!"

It was all the encouragement the man needed. He reached his master quickly, still crawling on the ground, but his pistol ready in his outstretched hand. He was concentrating so completely on the task of getting Erik away from Marielle's father that he ws oblivious to the Comte approaching him from behind. He seized the man by the shoulders and pulled him back. Then he lunged forwards and tried to grab the pistol. Unfortunately he landed right on Marielle's father, while one of his feet caught Victor in the stomach.

Soon all four men were rolling on the ground, hitting and kicking each other fiercely. It was hard to see who was doing what and even harder to tell who was going to win. Sometimes it seemed that one person gained the upper hand, but it never stayed like that for long.

It was like watching a crawling ant hill. The main difference was that ants didn't shout, at least not that I knew of. The air was thick with the men's yells and curses, some of which even I, who had grown up with sailors, hadn't heard before. I'd have never believed that the Comte or M.Erik knew such words.

If there had just been those four men involved, the fight would have probably gone on until one party got exhausted and gave up. Yet the other two henchmen of Marielle's father were still there as well. They exchanged insecure glances and a few words, apparently discussing what to do with Antoinette. Yet when they heard their master yell in pain, they simply let the girl stand where she was and joined the fight. They didn't have pistols, but such weapons had been long forgotten in this almost primeval fight anyway. All that mattered were hands and feet and, occasionally, teeth. I had no idea where Victor's pistol had gone. The one Marielle had carried with her had ended up in a bush as well.

"They're going to kill them!" Madame shrieked. "I've got to help them!"

She lifted her leg, obviously trying to climb out of the window, but Marielle held her back.

"No, wait!" she said. "There's already someone coming to help them!"

She pointed at the corner from which her father and the two other men had come before. Two men were running towards the fight now and threw themselves right on top of the others, making the whole scene even harder to understand. Still I had recognised at least one of the men and knew he was on our side.

"Gabriel!" I called uncertainly, not sure whether I was glad that he was here. I did feel a little safer now, but what if something happened to him?

"Pierre!" Marielle cried a moment later.

I looked over to her, and we exchanged a glance of deep understanding. Judging by the excited sound of her voice when she had said his name and the anxious expression on her face, she had the same kind of feelings for this man that I had for Gabriel. It was good to know that in the middle of all this horror and confusion, I had found a kindred spirit.

The fight was becoming more complicated by the moment. I wondered whether the men still knew whom they had to kick of hit. Still it was sickeningly fascinating to watch all those men lying on the ground. Even Philippe was watching them, though he should have better not done so. But then, Madame had probably decided that he had witnessed so many terrible things today that this wouldn't make any difference.

All of a sudden I was distracted from the fight by a loud crackling sound coming from behind me. I turned around quickly, and my eyes were met with a sight that made me gasp: The door was being consumed by the fire. The wood was burning so fast that it looked as if it were melting. I looked down. The carpet was not on fire yet, but that was only a matter of time. Once it'll have caught fire, the flames would spread to where we were standing. Already the smoke was getting thicker. There was no time to lose.

"The fire!" I cried. "We have to get out!"

"But how?" Madame asked, gesturing at the men. By now, they were fighting right under the window. We couldn't leave without treading on them and being engaged in the fight.

"Stay where you are!" Jacques ordered. I looked at him in surprise, wondering for one insane moment whether he'd jump out of the window and end the fight single-handed, just to create enough space for us to come out. On a day like this, nothing seemed impossible.

Yet apparently Jacques had found a more sensible and less violent solution. He strode over to the second window, which was completely unguarded, now that all the men were busy fighting. Seizing the same chair I had used what felt like a lifetime ago, he smashed the windowpane.

"Come here!" he shouted, starting to remove the remaining pieces of glass with his bare hands. I could see blood trickle down his fingers, but he didn't even seem to feel the pain.

We didn't need telling twice, but rushed to his side immediately.

"Philippe first," I decided. "But who'll help him on the other side?"

"I will," Larisse said, making all of us jump. I hadn't noticed her arrive. But then, it was getting harder to see, with all the smoke leaving the room through the window. It seemed like the cook had appeared out of thin air, Antoinette at her side. For once, the girl wasn't self-assured at all. She looked terrified and not much older than her brother.

"Maman," she whimpered. "What is Papa doing there? Why is he hurting the other men?"

"He's saving us, dear," Madame replied, giving her daughter a rather strained smile. "Don't be worried. We'll all be with you in a moment."

Larisse moved forwards, and Antoinette came with her. Madame leaned down to Philippe, but his former maid was faster and picked him up.

"You're still too weak," she told her seriously. "That blow must have hurt terribly… I'm so sorry about it…"

"We can talk about all that later," Madame said. "But first we have to get out, before…" She looked pointedly over her shoulder.

Marielle nodded, heaving Philippe out of the window. Larisse took him from her and put him down on the ground. A moment later, she had two children clinging to her skirt.

The temptation to give in to simply being happy for them was very strong. But then I recalled that Antoinette and Jacqueline had already been free once, and still the outcome for them hadn't been happy. What if that happened again?

"Larisse!" I called. "Take the children and run! Don't wait for us!"

"But… but why?" she asked. "Why can't we wait for you? You'll be outside in a minute, too… won't you?"

"We can't be sure of it," I said, feeling as if a leaden weight had dropped into my stomach. "Who knows how long they'll go on fighting? Once they'll have stopped, all kinds of things can happen. We'll wait till you'll be out of sight, then we'll follow you. It's safer."

"I don't know…" Larisse muttered. Even without seeing her too well, I knew that the wish to escape at last was fighting with the urge to stay here and help us. "Madame…?"

Madame swallowed hard. Then she nodded, her eyes shining with tears.

"Go with Larisse, children," she all but whispered. "I'll… we'll see each other… soon… Bring them here for a moment, Larisse."

The cook came closer to the window again. Both children stretched out their arms to their mother, and Madame kissd each little hand in turn. She did not cry, but I sensed that she held herself back with all the self-restraint she could muster. I had none such strength left. I cried. So did Marielle, Larisse… and Jacques, although he turned his head away quickly when he saw me look at him.

"You have to go now," Madame said at last, sounding as if something heavy was stuck in her throat. "You've got to – " The rest of her sentence was swallowed by a loud cough. The smoke had grown even thicker. Already I was starting to feel light-headed again.

Larisse and the children left quickly. As far as we could tell, none of the men on the ground did as much as look up as they passed. Still we waited a little while longer, till we could be sure that they were gone.

"Jacques will go next," I then announced. "He can help Madame outside. Then Marielle, then I…" Had forming sentences always been that difficult?

Jacques nodded, but he didn't leave immediately. Instead, he came over to me.

"We will all get out of here," he assured me. "I give you my word, Mademoiselle Jacqueline." For a moment, he simply looked into my eyes. Then his lips brushed my forehead. Before I could say anything, he had walked away briskly, climbing out of the window with a speed truly astonishing for someone his age. I shook my head slowly, asking myself what a meaning that scene had had. Perhaps it had just been a dream. Perhaps all this was just a dream. Thinking was becoming very difficult again.

Marielle helped Madame out of the window before leaving through it herself. Both women were coughing.

"I'll be right there," I called after them. My voice sounded strange in my ears.

I gripped the windowsill, but couldn't hold onto it. I needed a moment's rest, then everything would be all right again. I sank down onto the floor, barely able to hold my eyes open. There was something peculiar about the carpet: A part of it was red and seemed to be moving. I smiled. It was very pretty. I'd have liked to touch it, but it was still too far away, and my hand was very heavy. I'd have to have a closer look at it later. But first I'd have to rest… just for a little while… just…


	159. Chapter One Hundred and FiftyNine

**Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Nine**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Christine_

By the time we were all standing outside at last, I felt so exhausted that my legs could hardly support my weight anymore. My weekened state seemed to be clearly visible to those around me, because Marielle and Jacques seized me by the arms and held me upright.

"You will only have to hold on for a few more minutes," Jacques assured me. "Once all this is over, we will bring you to a doctor."

I nodded gratefully. Usually I was not one of those women who went to the doctor the moment they were feeling even slightly unwell, but just now, the thought of a nice warm bed and something to free me from that terrible headache was simply wonderful.

"But first we'll have to end this," Marielle reminded us grimly, pointing at the men. They were still fighting and fighting, with no end in view.

"Can't we wait for the police?" Jacques asked, surveying the heap of people with great dislike. It was clear that he didn't trust himself to end the fight, and I couldn't blame him. Even if I hadn't been this weak, I wouldn't have known how to separate those men. "Surely Madame Larisse will alert someone," he went on.

"I have no doubt about it," Marielle said. "Your… Larisse is her name?… is a very capable woman. But unless I'm very much mistaken, she cannot fly. It'll take her a while to alert the police, and it'll take them even longer to come here, especially if they have to go to the fire brigade first. We have to do something now."

Looking over at the men, I saw that she was right. We couldn't just let them go on fighting. Who knew what they'd do to each other? I could make out neither Erik nor Raoul clearly among the mass of bodies, yet the mere thought that they were there, being kicked and hit, made me sway slightly. Hastily, Jacques wrapped his arm around my waist to keep me from falling.

"Thank you," I whispered. He merely nodded and turned his head away. He looked as though he'd have preferred joining the fight to standing here with me, the woman who had taken his master away from him. "Thank you for everything," I stressed. "You needn't have done all the things you did. You were very brave."

It was one of the few occasions when his wrinkled face showed an emotion. His cheeks flushed, and he looked at me, his gaze almost kind.

"I did what I had to," he told me softly. "All I ever wanted was for Master Raoul to be happy. I would have never believed it possible, but he seems to be happy with you. So…"

It was my turn to look away, feeling rather embarrassed. He had a point. Raoul loved me so much, and I repaid him by making love to Erik. What kind of a wife was I?

Marielle seemed oblivious to what was going on between Jacques and me. Her gaze darted around restlessly, and she asked:

"Do you think you can hold her alone for a moment, Jacques? I have to search for something.".

"Of course," Jacques replied readily, tightening his grasp. When Marielle let go of me, I stumbled, but managed to remain upright.

Marielle walked over to one of the bushes and stepped into it. For a moment I was afraid that the sound of snapping twigs could attract the men's attention, but one glance in their direction told me that they were too busy fighting to hear anything. Perhaps they'd have looked up if I had started screaming on top of my lungs, but the sounds Marielle was making were much too soft.

"What are you doing?" I hissed.

She did not reply, yet once she emerged from the bush, no answer was necessary. She held a pistol in her hand. Suddenly I felt faint again.

"Oh…" I breathed, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment as the world started spinning around me. "You're not… going to shoot anyone… are you?"

Marielle glanced down at the pistol before looking at the men.

"Not unless it's necessary," she finally replied matter-of-factly. "I certainly won't shoot anyone as long as they're lying on the ground. I can hardly see who is who. But we need something to attract their attention with, or the fight will go on forever."

"And you know how to use it?" I asked, thinking of the one time I had tried to threaten Erik with the pistol from Raoul's study. Although it had indeed scared him, the plan hadn't worked too well. If the pistol would scare the men now, however, it would be good for us.

Marielle nodded briefly. She raised her arm high into the air and fired.

The men may have been engrossed in their fight, but that didn't make them oblivious to everything that was going on around them. A shot was something even they couldn't ignore. They looked up, crawling and stumbling over each other in their attempt to find the source of the noise. It didn't take them very long. After just a few moments, all eyes were focused on Marielle.

Her father was the first to react.

"Good girl," he cooed, smiling up at his daughter. The effect was appaling rather than comforting, for one of his front teeth was missing. A thin trickle of blood made its way down his chin. "Now give your father the pistol. I need it."

"Of course you need it!" Marielle called shrilly. "You need it to shoot all those people, who are my true family. You need it to cause mayhem, just like you always do. No! Not this time! Make sure none of them runs away," she added in a lower voice, addressing the men who had fought on our side.

Her worry wasn't unfounded. Victor had used the time when she had spoken to try and get to his feet. Gabriel seized him by the upper arms and dragged him upwards roughly.

It was hard work to get all the men to their feet without letting anyone escape. Jacques went over to the others to help them, leaving me behind. After the minutes in which he had supported me, it almost felt a little strange to be on my own, but it worked surprisingly well.

Once everyone was able to walk, we seized the chance to draw back from the house and marched onto the lawn behind it, Marielle and her pistol showing us the way. I walked slowly, facing the wall at the back of the garden all the time. Once or twice I was tempted to glance over my shoulder, but I forced myself to go on, step after step. I wasn't prepared to see the house yet.

Marielle led us to a secluded spot under a large tree. It was only when we came to a halt that I had a good look at the men. I couldn't hold back a whimper of sympathy. They were in a pitiable state. Their clothes were torn and dirty, smeared with blood, and their faces were scratched and swollen. I had already noticed that Victor was walking with a limp that he had certainly not had before, and he was not the only one whose legs were hurt. One of the other henchmen of Marielle's father was rubbing his knee. Several men also had wounds on their arms and hands.

Naturally, my gaze was drawn to the two most important men in my life. They were standing on opposite ends of the line. Raoul was holding the henchman with the injured knee. He had a ring of bruises around his left eye, and his hair was dishevelled and dirty, but apart from those little things, he seemed unharmed. He smiled at me.

Erik was smiling as well, from behind Marielle's father. To my surprise, I saw that his mask had not been damaged. It seemed to be sturdier than it looked. His other cheek was scratched and bleeding, yet given the fact that much worse things could have happened, I couldn't help giving a sigh of relief. I felt much better, knowing that everyone I cared for was safe.

But was this truly the Erik I cared for? Only now did I rememver what had happened. Had Erik joined the fight to save us, or had the Opera Ghost joined the fight because he simply liked violence? I threw him a questioning glance, although I didn't seriously expect to see whether he was his old self again. His lips formed one word: Philippe? Smiling brightly, I gestured at the path around the house, trying to tell him without words that he had fled. I should have known. The Opera Ghost wouldn't have cared about my son.

"So…" Marielle called, breaking the tense silence at last. "We'll all wait here till the police arrives. No one will try anything stupid, or I'll be forced to use this." She brandished the pistol. "Believe me, I know how to use it."

"You wouldn't kill your own father," her father said confidently, taking a step forwards. I could have told him that this was not a good idea. Within a second, the noose of the Punjab Lasso had wrapped itself around his neck.

"Perhaps not," Erik agreed pleasantly, smiling the sardonic smile I had missed so much. "I, on the other hand, wouldn't mind. You'd have killed my godson without batting an eyelid. Just give me one reason to hurt you, and I'll be happy to do it."

Marielle's father opened his mouth, yet his retort was cut off by Gabriel's call.

"Wait a moment! Where's… where's Jacqueline?"


	160. Chapter One Hundred and Sixty

**Chapter One Hundred and Sixty**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Gabriel_

I had expected a simple reply, a reply that would make the nagging suspicion in my stomach go away. I had expected Madame to say ´Oh, she's right over there,´ pointing at a spot where I'd see Jacqueline standing, waving at me. What I had not expected was wide-eyed surprise. Madame, Jacques and the woman who had been in the living room with them all looked around themselves.

"Where is she?" Madame asked. "I thought she was right behind me…"

"She left the room after me," the woman said, shaking her head incredulously. "Or didn't she? I… I'm not sure anymore… everything happened so quickly outside… the fight… and the pistol… I didn't pay attention to whether she was there…"

"So we have to assume that she has not left the living room," Jacques stated.

I had always regarded his ability to remain composed in every situation as very useful, if a little irritating. Yet looking over to him, I realised that he wasn't composed at all. On the contrary, his face had gone pale, and his hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly hold on to the arm of the man standing in front of him.

I only had one moment for that astonishing observation, however, for in the next, Jacques let go of the man and broke into a run. His destination was clear: the house. The living room. Jacqueline. I didn't think about what was the right thing to do for me. I let go of the man I was holding and tore after Jacques.

I caught up with him halfway across the lawn. He was an old man, after all, and I was young and more or less healthy. Even having recently recovered from my illness, I was faster than him. I didn't wait for him, but continued running till I reached the two smashed windows. Smoke was coming out of them, obscuring the view into the room.

The house didn't look like a place I'd like to enter. But then, it was not as if I had a choice. I apporached the left window, not sure which one was better or why both were smashed at all, when a voice held me back.

"Not… that one!" Jacques called, breathing hard. He came towards me, pressing a hand to his chest, while the other one held his side.

"Why not?" I asked blankly, almost a little angry at him. I had just summoned enough courage to go in there, and now he came and disturbed me.

"Because… because it's the window… the window we left the room through," he replied, taking deep breaths between the words. "If she's… still in there… she could be lying… right under it. You'd step… onto her."

I nodded briefly to show him that I had understood and went to the other window instead.

"I'll… go with you," Jacques declared, joining me at the window.

"No," I said flatly. "Too dangerous. Jacqueline is my responsibility because I… I…" I interrupted myself. There were things men simply didn't speak about, and that kind of feelings belonged to that category. I hadn't even told Jacqueline about them yet… and if I continued standing here, doing nothing, I'd never get the chance to do so.

I turned away, but Jacques, behaving in a way so unlike his usual self that it made me speechless, seized me by the shoulder and forced me to face him.

"I love her, too," he told me seriously, but with great urgency. "Not like you do, of course. I never had a family, but… If I had had a daughter, she'd have been just like Jacqueline. I promised her that… that we'd all get out alive. I have to keep that promise…"

I looked at him. It was not a comforting sight. His face was ashen-coloured and covered with a layer of perspiration. He looked old, very old, and very weak. And still there was a certain gleaming in his eyes.

"You'll help her from out here," I decided. "The smoke will be very thick in the room. I may not find the way out again without someone guiding me."

He nodded.

"But if you need anything else, do not hesitate to call," he instructed me, suddenly sounding very much like the butler I knew again.

"Of course," I agreed, giving him a smile.

I pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it over my mouth and nose. It made breathing rather difficult, but it was better than inhaling smoke all the time. Holding the handkerchief in place with one hand, I swung my legs over the windowsill and entered the room, fortunately without stepping onto anyone.

It was worse than I could have ever imagined. The smoke, which had looked so thick from outside, seemed even thicker in here. I couldn't see the walls or the floor or the furniture. I couldn't see anything but a mass of grey and black clouds. I felt strangely light-headed, as if I were a cloud myself, drifting through the sky, without a worry on my mind.

I had almost forgotten who I was or where I was, when a voice brought me back to reality.

"Gabriel! Have you found her yet?" It was Jacques.

"No," I gave back, my voice sounding muffled from behind the handkerchief. "Can't see…"

"I'll help you," he called. "I'll go to the other window. If she's there, you'll find her by following my voice."

He had difficulties in speaking as well. His sentences were interrupted by coughs again and again. Still I heard him again, just a few moments after he had spoken for the first time.

"I'm here… Gabriel… here…"

His voice was like a ray of sunshine penetrating the darkness. I still couldn't see anything but smoke, but I let the voice guide me. Keeping one hand on the wall, I made my way forwards hesitantly. It was very strange, walking without seeing where I was going.

And then, quite suddenly, my foot hit something solid, nearly making me fall to the floor. I paused, thinking. It had definitely been too soft for the leg of a chair or the sofa. A cushion, maybe? Or…? I couldn't think of another way of finding out what it was than crouching down and touching it, so that was what I did.

The carpet was warm under my hands and knees, and I guessed that somewhere I couldn't see it was on fire, just like the rest of the room. Still… the fire didn't seem to have reached the window yet, which was at least one good aspect about it. Tentatively I stretched out a hand to the spot that my foot had touched before. It came into contact with something warm and soft. It was an arm.

Feeling shocked and relieved at the same time, I shook the arm.

´Jacqueline!´ I wanted to call, yet when I removed the handkerchief from my mouth, only coughs came out. Abandoning the thought of talking to her for the moment, I felt my way up her arm to find out in which position she was lying on the floor.

My fingers lingered on her face. I couldn't see it, but that wasn't necessary. I knew every inch of it so well that I could have drawn a painting of her. Fortunately she had no idea how often I looked at her.

I forced myself to go on, running my hands over her arms, torso and legs, resisting the temptation to let my fingers stay a little longer on certain places. I'd never sink that low as to molest a girl while she was… My heart skipped a beat. Was she merely unconscious, or was there a far more serious reason why she didn't move?

I couldn't tell. I simply didn't know how to find out whether a person was alive without as much as seeing them. Yet I told myself that it didn't make any difference. I couldn't just let her lie here, while the fire drew nearer and nearer and would eventually… I forbade myself to think about it. I had to get her out of here, whether she was alive or…or not.

Now that I knew where her head was, I could pick her up in my arms cautiously. She was much heavier than I had expected, and I had carried around quite a few girls in my life. It was normal for an older brother. I felt her head move against my arm as I came into a standing position and tried to support it more.

The windowframe bumped against my shoulder, so I turned around, glad that I knew where the window was. Although my instincts told me to leave the room as quickly as possible, I made my way out slowly, holding Jacqueline safely in my arms like a new-born child.

Staggering under her weight, I collapsed on the ground as soon as we were outside. Jacqueline slipped out of my arms. She lay on her back, and I could clearly see her chest heave as she took a deep breath.

"She's not dead," I muttered, sounding very hoarse. "She's not dead, Jacques… Jacques?"

It was only then that I realised that I hadn't heard his voice for quite a while. He hadn't even offered to help me out of the room. I looked over to the window. Jacques was lying under it in a crumpled heap, motionless. One hand was still clutching his chest.


	161. Chapter One Hundred and SixtyOne

**Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-One**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Christine_

There surely were many bad things that could be said about Victor – the fact that he had been tempted to force himself on me while I had been a prisoner of his master sprang to my mind at once – but he was a man who seized the chances he saw. The moment Gabriel had let go of him to run after Jacques, Victor tried to free his master. The other henchman made a half-hearted attempt to help him, yet the man Marielle had called Pierre took the arm Jacques had been clutching and held it in a firm grip.

It soon turned out that the man's decision not to do anything was far better than Victor's decision to help his master. Seeing the man aproach him, Erik tightened the noose around the neck of Marielle's father.

"Would you like to have a dead master?" he asked conversationally, tightening the noose further. The eyes of Marielle's father were bulging, making him look more insane than ever. He shook his head frantically.

Victor did the same, his eyes almost as wide as his master's.

"Please don't kill him… please," he begged, looking as though he were about to throw himself at Erik's feet.

"I won't kill him," Erik said coldly. "But it has nothing to do with you… or him, as a matter of fact. If I was determined to kill him, nothing you could say or do would hold me back. Yet most unfortunately, Marielle seems to prefer her father alive, though I can't imagine the reason."

"My father must go to prison," Marielle declared. Her voice was shaking ever so slightly, but her hand with the pistol in it was quite steady. "He must go to prison and… and rot there! It would be just like him, letting his henchmen go to prison for him, while he found a quick way out. It simply wouldn't be just."

"I could make his death slow and painful," Erik suggested, sounding like a friendly uncle offerng his favourite niece a treat because she had been such a good girl. "I know a hundred ways of killing with the Punjab Lasso."

His casual voice sent shivers down my spine, and they were not shivers of pleasure. I looked over to Raoul and saw that he was holding the henchman with one hand only, while the other one was at his throat. Even after more than a decade, he traced the by now invisible line the lasso had left every now and then.

Noticing my gaze upon him, he looked up and shook his head dismissively. I knew him long enough to understand that this meant ´How can you have any kind of positive feelings for that madman?´. I answered his glance with one of my own that said ´Loving someone means accepting them the way they are, with all their strengths and weaknesses´. I wasn't sure how much of that message he actually understood, yet seeing him roll his eyes, I knew he had at least got the right idea.

"I want him to go to prison," Marielle repeated, and for a moment I was startled, thinking she was talking about Erik. Then I realised she was still referring to her father, of course. "All the things he did to you! And if something happens to Jacqueline, it will be his fault as well. She always was like a sister to me…"

At once I looked over to the house, but except for a mass of smoke, I couldn't see much. Quickly I looked away again, since I still didn't feel ready to see more than a glimpse of the fire and all that it had destroyed.

In order to distract myself from that distubing thought, I asked Marielle something that had been on my mind for a while.

"And you really didn't know anything about what your father was planning?" I asked, trying not to sound accusing. "If you did, this would be the right time to tell us. Neither the children nor the other servants are here. They'd never know. And we… I think we could forgive you… but only if you're honest with us now."

"I didn't have the faintest idea of what my father was up to," Marielle replied. "I swear it. I knew he was up to something because he had endless discussions with his henchmen behind closed doors, but that was nothing unsual. He's always up to something, though normally it's nothing more sinister than his next burglary. You see, he's no longer talking to me about such things because I told him that I don't want anything to do with it. I did so right after I had returned from living with you. I turned my back on crimes."

"Yes, suddenly you were too good for us," her father called, sneering. "But you weren't good enough to come back and stay with me again, to eat my food and sleep under my roof, were you?"

"Only because I had nowhere else to go," Marielle stated softly. I opened my mouth to utter another apology, but she shook her head and went on herself. "I should have never returned to you. But I needed a place to stay while I was looking for a new position…" Her voice trailed off. The expression on her face told me that she was not recalling the happiest time of her life.

"You never found one," her father said, sounding almost triumphant. I couldn't believe how insensitive he was, putting his finger right on the spot where it hurt his daughter most. What kind of a man was this? "And I know the reason why," he continued. "You were too honest. You could have lied. You could have made up a nice little story about the child you had been looking after… dying of a sudden disease, maybe. But no, you had to be honest and tell everyone you had been dismissed. Stupid girl!" He spat on the ground.

"And it's all your fault!" he addressed me after a moment. "And yours," he added, looking at Raoul. "She had no problems with lying before she came to you, and look at her now! She's a pathetic shell of her former self., unable to earn money with her father. You… you corrupted her!"

I could hardly keep myself from bursting into hysterical laughter. I wouldn't have believed that there was a father who complained because his daughter was telling the truth.

"They showed me the right way of living," Marielle said quietly. "They showed me that there are families in which the children do not live in permanent fear of their father, families that are kept together by love rather than the number of crimes they have committed together. As long as I was living with the de Chagnys, I never told a single lie…except for the things I had to say in order to keep my brother's activities quiet, that is, and I'm very sorry for it."

"It doesn't matter now," I assured her gently, moved by her words. I had had no idea that she regarded our family as as ideal. We were far from perfect, after all. I went over to her and put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against me with a little sigh, but kept her pistol aimed at Victor, even though he seemed to have given up any attempt to move.

Her father gave a cry like a wounded animal, making both of us look up in alarm. Yet Erik hadn't done anything.

"How can you let that… that woman comfort you?" Marielle's father cried.

"If I were you, I'd choose my words very carefully," Erik warned him in a low voice.

"Don't you understand that she's the worst of all?" the man went on, as if he hadn't heard Erik. "She had to be punished. Yes, I didn't tell you about what I was planning, but that was because it was meant to be a surprise! A surprise!" He gave a horrible laugh. "There would have been a report about the fire in the newspaper tomorrow, and I'd have shown it to you and said ´Look what I've done for you´. And you'd have been grateful. But you were too curious. Why did you have to show up here?"

"I had a bad feeling," Marielle replied, wisely choosing to ignore the ´You'd have been grateful´ part of her father's little speech. He was beyond normal reasoning now anyway. I could only guess that this was why Erik had spared him as well. "No one wanted to tell me anything about your latest plans. So I waited till everyone had gone today and read the notes you made for yourself. I knew I had to come here at once. And that was what I did."

"And you corrupted Pierre!" her father called, acting as if this was the first time he truly noticed that fact. A disgusted expression was on his face. "And Lazlo, too! Where is he, anyway?"

"I sent him away," Marielle answered, her lips curling into a tiny smile. "You taught him obedience, and I thought I should put it to the test. It worked very well. Aren't you happy about it, Father?" She gave the last word an ironic stress.

Unable to keep looking at her, Marielle's father turned away and caught Pierre's gaze.

"You!" he shouted. "What are you doing there, holding a man who should be your friend? You should be on our side! I give you food, shelter and money! What can my daughter give you?"

It was an interesting question. The last time I had seen that man, he had knocked me unconscious. What had caused this change of mind?

"Hope," Pierre replied simply. He was no longer looking at the furious man held back by the Punjab Lasso, but at his daughter. They exchanged tentative smiles. "She gives me the hope that she and I have a future together… that one day we'll have one of those good, honest families she was talking about…"

"You're in love with her!" Marielle's father cried. He made it sound as if it were the worst thing that could happen to a person. "Well, you'll see how long this love will last once you rot in prison!"

Erik had been surprisingly quiet during the entire conversation. Yet now he didn't seem able to control himself any longer. He gave the man a hard push in the small of his back, making him stumble forwards. For a second, the Punjab Lasso was all that suspended him over the ground. Then Erik pulled him back roughly by the shoulders.

"True love lasts forever," he growled. "But I can't expect a man like you to know that. There are few fortunate enough to experience it. So don't talk about things you don't understand." Though he wasn't as much as looking at me, I knew that he was talking about me and himself. Yet since I had no intention to discuss that delicate topic in the presence of so many other people, I changed the subject quickly.

"And as for prison," I said. "I don't think Pierre will go there. After all, he didn't do anything. Come to think of it, I've never seen the man before. He just happened to walk by outside, noticed that something was wrong and went in to help us. A very noble thing to do." Marielle and Pierre both beamed at me.

"Even if you manage to make the police believe that story, there are a few others I could tell as well," Marielle's father snarled. "Terrible stories. He'll end up in prison, whether you like it or not."

"So you're a story-teller as well?" Erik asked. "Well, I'd advise you to keep them to yourself. Otherwise I might be tempted to visit you in prison, and you know how quickly dreadful accidents happen in there. So – "

A cry coming from the house made all heads turn.

There were indeed many bad things that could be said about Victor, but he seized his chances. This time, it happened the moment Marielle lowered her pistol.


	162. Chapter One Hundred and SixtyTwo

**Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Two**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Erik_

It was interesting to see how priorities shifted in difficult times. The man called Victor was a very good example. He was weak, powerless and without an own opinion. He needed someone to make decisions for him. That was the one reason why he had tried to free his master. The attempt had not been caused by loyalty or affection, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself of the contrary.

Yet the last minutes had shown him something: His master could no longer help him. He was under my control and just as powerless as he himself. That was why Victor, when given the chance to act a second time, didn't even move towards his master. Without the power to command others, the man had become useless for him.

Someone more intelligent than Victor would have maybe tried to change sides and plead for mercy. Yet Victor was beyond such rational thoughts. He had seen what I could do to his master and was afraid that he could be my next victim. His fear was unfounded, since I had far too much fun with the man to stop playing with him anytime soon, but naturally Victor didn't know that.

So he did the only thing he could think of: He ran for it. He hurried to the wall separating the garden from the street behind it, climbed over it with a few hasty motions and vanished from view, leaving his master to stare after him incredulously, taken by surprise. Not everyone was able to analyse the human mind as well as I did.

"Should I have tried to shoot at him?" the young woman asked uncertainly, looking down at the pistol in her hand. Directly after the fight, I had been busy thinking about her name for minutes, before I had finally remembered that it was Marielle. I had also been able to recall her background, but still it had been interesting to hear what had become of her since Christine had dismissed her.

I shook my head.

"He's not worth the bullet," I replied. "We can be glad that he's gone. One man less to keep under control."

"He won't go far anyway," Marielle said. "Every time something goes wrong on a burglary, he runs back to the abandoned house we're living in at the moment. We can send the police to fetch him from there."

"But don't forget the person who shouted," Christine reminded us. I noticed that she hadn't even turned her head to see where Victor had gone. Her gaze was fixed upon the place that had once been her home. "Someone should go to the house and find out what happened. Perhaps they need help."

"I'll go," the Vicomte offered at once. I should have known that he'd do anything to impress Christine. Now that I thought about it, it didn't sound like such a bad idea after all. I, however, couldn't have done it myself. I'd rather die than let the Vicomte touch my Punjab Lasso, and it seemed to be the only thing that could restrain Marielle's father. So I had to stay here. I could at least comfort myself with the thought that the Vicomte wouldn't be around for a while.

"Could you hold him as well?" the Vicomte asked the man called Pierre.

"You could let us go, too," the man Pierre was holding suggested hopefully. "We did much less than Victor, and you let him go, so…"

"No," Marielle said sharply. "You'll go to prison with my father. And Victor will join you soon. The police with find him. So don't try to flee. Pierre can handle both of you very well, and I'll help him." She indicated her pistol. "You can go now, M. le Comte," she added in the Vicomte's direction, sounding far more polite all of a sudden.

The Vicomte nodded. He waited till Pierre had seized each of the men by one upper arm, then he ran towards the house.

"You should better let all of us go, while there's still time," my prisoner said. He had been blissfully silent for a while, yet apparently the shock of almost being killed hadn't lasted too long. "We'll break free anyway. What are you waiting for?" He looked at his henchmen, who exchanged interested glances.

Sensing the danger, I suggested:

"We should better separate them. You'll stay here with those two, and I'll take this one away, before he makes the other ones rebellious and I'll have to kill him. Christine, would you come with me?".

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. My ability to analyse people had never worked too well with her. I couldn't tell whether it had been the thought of being alone with me or with Marielle's father that had made her hesitate.

We walked till we reached the wall at the back of the garden. Seeing my prisoner eye it hopefully, I said:

"Don't even think about fleeing. You'd be dead before taking the first step.".

He nodded, but didn't make a comment. Well, it was certainly better than having him talk all the time.

I looked over to Christine, only to realise how pale she was. Of course I had noticed it before, but it hadn't seemed to be that bad from the distance.

"Shall we sit down?" I asked her.

"Yes… perhaps that would be better," she replied faintly. Holding the Punjab Lasso in one hand, I used my other arm to keep her from falling as she sank down on the ground. I encouraged her to lean against the wall before I sat down as well, pulling Marielle's father with me. I soon found myself between Christine and him, and for obvious reasons, I preferred the former as my company. I threw a brief glance at the house, yet fortunately it was hidden from view by several trees. So my beloved didn't have to see it.

When I had suggested taking Marielle's father away from the others, my only intention had been to keep all of us secure. I had wanted to remove the temptation of killing him after all, thus making Marielle miserable. Yet now that I was sitting here, mere inches away from Christine, it occurred to me that our sudden solitude could have other advantages as well. It seemed to have been a year since the last time I had had a decent conversation with the woman I loved.

"Are you all right?" I wanted to know. "What happened to you? Mme.Gardé and the new coachman told me a few things, but I can't seem to remember them too well."

So Christine told me her entire story, starting with Meg's visit and her setting off to the opera and ending with the moment I had come to the house. I couldn't help feeling ashamed because I had caused so many people so much trouble, confusion and pain. Yet I was also angry.

"If I had known what that Victor almost did to you, I wouldn't have let him go," I remarked grimly after she was finished. "And Pierre doesn't sound too reliable either. Are you sure that he's on our side now?"

"He's on Marielle's side," Christine answered simply. "He'll do whatever she asks him to. He's – "

"He's a fool, that's what he is!" my prisoner interrupted her. He didn't seem to be familiar with even the most basic rules of politeness. Had he never heard of the well-known fact that interrupting someone, especially a woman, was highly inappropriate? "I've had enough of it," he went on, uttering exactly what I was thinking about him in that moment. "If I had had any idea that he was in love with my daughter, I'd have thrown him out into the street right away. He wasn't good for much anyway. And love only distracts people from what's really important. But then…" He threw us a sideways glance, sneering. "…you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? Jumping around in bed at night, so loudly that everyone wakes up! Is that the right behaviour for a married woman and a… a… whatever you are? I wonder what the Comte would say if someone happened to tell – "

He finished his sentence with a gurgling sound, keeled over and lay motionless on the grass. There had been no other way. I wouldn't have been able to stand him for another second.

"Erik!" Christine exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock. "You weren't supposed to kill him. And I… I didn't think you'd do such a thing anymore…" She looked at me, and there was a great sadness in her eyes.

"He's not dead," I hastened to explain. "I merely tightened the noose a little, enough to make him pass out because of the lack of air. I should have thought of doing it sooner. It would have saved us a lot of trouble. He won't recover completely until about half an hour has passed, and he certainly won't be able to tell the Vicomte anything. So you don't have to worry. But why did he know about us at all? Or is he simply a very good guesser?"

Christine gave a sigh.

"He must have read the note Jacqueline put into my pocket. You see, we… we must have been a little too loud last night, Jacqueline heard us and wrote the note to tell us to be more careful in the future, lest we woke someone up," she said, her pale cheeks flushing.

"Oh…" I made, feeling both embarrassed and proud.

"And what happened to you?" she asked quickly. "Why didn't you recognise us anymore?"

Perhaps I would have liked to discuss our bedroom activities a little longer, yet since she seemed so eager to move away from the topic, I didn't elaborate either, but answered her questions as well as I could.

"I don't know why all this happened," I finished. "But I'm glad that I came back just in time."

"So am I," Christine said quietly. "You saved our lives, you and… and Raoul." The expression on her face grew very serious. I knew what was on her mind.

"What will become of us, now that he's back?" I asked, hating myself for the note of panic in my voice. I had fought against dangerous men with and without pistols, yet now was the first time that I was truly afraid.

She gave me a sad smile.

"I have no idea, Erik," she replied. "I have no idea."

Her hand found mine, and we held onto each other till we saw people running onto the lawn from all directions. The police had come at last.


	163. Chapter One Hundred and SixtyThree

**Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Three**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Christine_

The moment Erik spotted the first policemen, the atmosphere changed completely. The mutual feelings of sadness and uncertainty gave way to a wave of feverish activity on his side.

"I have to go," he said, pulling his hand out of mine. "If they'll find me here, it'll cause a lot of trouble… not only for me."

"But you didn't do anything bad," I protested. I didn't want him to leave me alone. "On the contrary: You saved us."

"Do you really think they care about what I've done or haven't done this time?" he asked, and I was shocked about the bitterness in his voice. "To them, I'm just a criminal, a dangerous madman, no matter how many years have passed since I committed the last crime."

"Perhaps they won't remember you," I argued, trying my best to sound hopeful, even though I already knew what his reply would be.

"The younger policemen probably won't," he admitted. "But the older ones will, and they'll show no mercy. I'm sure that there are a few among them who still hold an old grudge against me because I went into hiding after the incident at the opera and they never managed to send me to prison. This time, I would end up there, and it would be the death of me."

Swallowing hard, I made no attempt to seize his hand again. I didn't want to hold him back if that was the price he'd pay for it. I couldn't be that selfish.

Erik leaned over Marielle's father and removed the Punjab Lasso.

"The strangulation marks are hardly visible," he remarked matter-of-factly, suddenly sounding much more like the man who did dissections with absolute indifference than the one who had held my hand minutes before. "If the police asks why he's lying on the ground, you can say that he attacked you, and you pushed him, making him fall backwards. No one will be able to tell the difference on the first glance. Look… he's already stirring again."

The man was indeed stirring, moving his head and limbs slowly, like a person dreaming. Yet unlike Erik, I didn't regard that development as something positive.

"But what will happen if he wakes up before the police will be here?" I asked in a small voice. "I don't want to be alone with him."

Erik let his gaze wander over the lawn for a moment. Nearly all the policemen had disappeared. I couldn't see it, but I assumed that they had gone to the house first to look what they could do there. Perhaps they hadn't even spotted us behind the trees yet, but it was only a matter of time till they'd search the garden, especially once Raoul would have told them that his wife and several other people were there. I could only hope he wouldn't mention Erik.

"I'll fetch Marielle and Pierre," he offered. "They can come over and wait for the police with you here. Then you won't be alone. But first…"

He leaned over and kissed me on the lips. It was a long, passionate kiss that made my body hum with pleasure. It was a kiss that could have led to much more if circumstances had been different. And oh… how I wished that circumstances had been different! I wished I could just lie in bed with Erik. I wished the fire and everything else were nothing but an unpleasant dream, to be forgotten five minutes after getting up.

Our lips parted, and I blinked several times, as if I were indeed waking up from a dream.

"I have to go now," Erik said quietly. "But I'll come and see you later. You can also tell it to Philippe if he asks about me."

"You won't even know where to find us," I argued. "_I_ don't even know where we'll be. I mean, we can hardly stay here, can we? It's all… gone. Erik, we don't have a home anymore!" The realisation hit me with the intensity of a bolt of lightning. A wave of panic spread through my body. We didn't have a home. We had nowhere to go.

"I'll go to the opera and talk to Meg," he assured me, stroking my hair. "She'll surely take you in. I'll meet you there later. But you have to promise me that you'll all see a doctor first, espcecially you. You still look so very pale."

"I promise," I breathed, barely holding back tears. Erik kissed my forehead one last time and got to his feet. I looked after him till he had vanished behind the trees.

Just one or two minutes later, I was joined by Marielle, Pierre and the two other men. The latter were looking around anxiously, apparently waiting for the police to come and arrest them any moment, but Marielle seemed to be more interested in me.

"Is everything all right?" she asked gently. "There are tears in your eyes… Here." She took out a less-than-clean handkerchief and gave it to me. If she had dared dab at my eyes herself, she'd have probably done so, but her respect was still bigger than her motherly feelings.

"I'm fine," I assured her, wiping my eyes. "It's just… it has all been too much for me." It wasn't even a lie. Losing Erik, if only for a while, had been but the final straw on a terrible day. It was no wonder that I was close to tears, was it?

Marielle nodded sympathetically.

"M.Erik – that's how he introduced himself to Pierre and me – seemed rather upset as well, if you don't mind me saying so," she remarked cautiously.

"Well, it has been a difficult day for him as well," I muttered, not sure what else to say. Of course I was aware that leaving me behind when I needed him had been one of the reasons for Erik's bad mood, but I wasn't going to tell them about it. It would have been too complicated, and I probably wouldn't have managed to have such a conversation without bursting into tears.

Marielle and Pierre exchanged a glance, and it occurred to me that perhaps they already knew that Erik and I were more than friends. Wel, Pierre certainly knew about it, for he had read Jacqueline's note… or rather, it had been read out to him. So it was possible that he had told Marielle about it. In that case, a conversation about the topic would have been even more difficult. I decided not to say anything.

Marielle's father have a faint moan, and his eyelids fluttered.

"I'm sorry about what Erik did to him, but we couldn't help it," I told her with a lopsided smile. "He just wouldn't be quiet."

"I know the problem," Marielle stated dryly. "Do you think M.Erik could show me the trick how to keep him quiet one of these days? But then, it will no longer be necessary, will it?"

Pierre put an arm around her shoulder and patted her awkwardly.

"You made the right decision," he said seriously. "You saved everyone… especially me. You were very brave."

"Most of the time, I was very scared," she admitted. "But the knowledge that I was doing the right thing helped me. That was what I always thought of. No matter what happened between us in the past, murder can never be the solution." She looked down at her father, shaking her head.

"You have been brave," I assured her.

"I had a lot of help," she muttered.

"But without you, that help wouldn't have been worth anything," I reminded her. "If you wouldn't have kept talking to your father, Erik and Raoul would have arrived here too late to help us."

Marielle's cheeks flushed deeply, and I realised that we had to change the subject, lest we made her even more embarrassed. It was clear that she wasn't used to being praised.

"If the police asks, I'll say that your father attacked me and I pushed him to the ground," I informed her. "And Erik has never been here."

"Why not?" Pierre asked instantly. "He helped everyone so much. Why can't we tell the police about him? And why did he leave at all? Is there something I should know? A secret? Has it something to do with the mask?"

"Have you never heard of the Phantom of the Opera?" I asked him, surprised to hear him ask so many questions about a topic that I thought perfectly clear. Somehow I always assumed everyone knew those stories. But then, Marielle's father had oviously not known who Erik was either.

"Pierre only came to Paris two years ago," Marielle explained. "He doesn't know anything about it. I hardly know anything about it either, even though I've been here much longer. Perhaps you could tell us…"

I gave a sigh.

"We'll talk about it another time," I promised. "At the moment, it's enough to know that the police must never know that he was here." They both nodded.

We waited in silence for a few minutes before three men came out from behind the trees.

"Ah, here you are," one of them said. "Are you the other victims M. le Comte mentioned?"

"Yes, we are," I replied, stepping forwards. "I am the Comtess de Chagny, and that is Marielle. She used to work for me and has come to visit the children and me today. And that man… I don't know his name, I'm afraid… he just came and helped us. It was very brave of him, wasn't it?"

I was talking quickly, hoping the policemen wouldn't have time to ask questions. It seemed to work, for they were nodding. One of them was taking notes.

"The other three are criminals whom we managed to keep here till you arrived," I went on, turning around to the others. To my relief, it was Pierre who was holding the pistol now. It would have been very hard to explain why Marielle had taken a weapon with her to visit her former employer. "But what about my husband and everyone else?" I then changed the subject. "Are they all right?"

"Your husband is fine, Madame," the youngest policeman told me, looking up from his notes. "You'll be able to see him soon, once they've taken away the bodies."


	164. Chapter One Hundred and SixtyFour

**Author's note:** Today is my 24th birthday. Do you know what I'd like to have as presents from you? Exactly: reviews!

**Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Four**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Christine_

Bodies? I had barely had time to take in the dreadful word with the ominuous sound, when a slap and a little yelp made me look up. The young policeman was massaging his arm, throwing the man standing next to him an accusing glance.

"You fool!" the older man hissed, his hand still raised. "How often do I have to tell you not to be this rash? They're not called bodies unless they're dead!"

"But they looked as good as dead," the young man argued. "I've seen them. They weren't moving at all."

"That was because they were unconscious," the older man said through gritted teeth. He looked as though he'd have liked to hit the young man again, but the presence of other people held him back. "They'll be all right once the doctor arrives here, which will happen any moment now. We have no reason to believe they're not fine. Or do you have become a doctor yourself without telling anyone and can treat those people?"

"No… of course not," the young man mumbled, staring down at the ground. "I'm sorry…"

"So am I," the older man growled. Then he looked at me and forced his face into a smile. "I have to apologise for my young colleague," he said. "He only started working with us half a year ago and still has difficulties with his… behaviour." He threw him an angry glance. "And I haven't even had time to introduce myself," he went on, straightening up, as if to demonstrate that he was capable of the right behaviour, even if no one else was. He stretched out his hand. "Inspector Claudoir. I'm very pleased to meet you, Madame, and to find you in such good health."

Completely puzzled, I offered him my hand, and he kissed it. Given the fact that my hand was smeared with dirt and earth, this couldn't possibly be a pleasure for him, yet the expression on his face didn't give away what he was thinking.

"The pleasure is mine," I muttered, although I wasn't sure that this was true.

"That's Paul," he continued the introduction, pointing at the young man he had scolded before. "And Inspector Grenadelle is over there."

It was only then that I noticed the third policeman was no longer with the others. He had walked away from them, probably while Inspector Claudoir had hissed at Paul, and was talking to the two henchmen of Marielle's father. The conversation seemed rather one-sided. As far as I could tell, the two men weren't saying a word. Well, compared to some of the things they could have said, silence was certainly preferrable. Marielle's father still hadn't recovered enough to speak.

"Would you care to come over here with me?" Inspector Claudoir asked politely. "I have to take your statement, while Paul…" He all but pushed the young man forwards. "…will talk to the two other victims." Paul nodded eagerly, but I shook my head.

"First I want to know what is happening at the house," I told him firmly. "Who is unconscious? Which doctor have you called for? And where's my husband?"

"Erm… well…" the Inspector muttered. It was clear that he was mainly used to asking questions, not answering them. "This is not the way the procedure usually works. But if you insist on getting your answers first…"

"Yes, I insist on it," I said at once. "I won't answer a single question before I know whether everyone is all right."

Marielle threw me a grateful glance. She seemed to be just as eager to find out the truth as I was, yet her social position wasn't very useful for arguing with a policeman. Being a Countess had its advantages.

"Very well," Inspector Claudoir agreed, sighing. "We were alerted by one Mme. Larisse Gardé, who claims to be your cook."

I nodded.

"Is she all right as well?" I asked. "And what about my children? They were with her."

"I have never even met the woman, so how am I supposed to know anything about her well-being?" the Inspector said, shrugging. Seeing the outraged expression on my face, his voice grew more friendly. "I wanted to say that there's no reason to believe she's not fine," he went on. "She sent a messenger boy to the police, while she herself – and your children – are staying with the family de Gableux."

"De Gableaux," I corrected. "They are our neighbours. Very nice people." I smiled.

"Anyway," he muttered, before going on in a business-like voice. "Since she insisted there was a house on fire, we alerted the firebrigade as well. They're already working on putting out the fire. When we arrived here, we found four people outside the building. Two of them, a woman and an old man, were unconscious, and the other two men were trying to help them. They told us that the woman had been left behind in the house and had only been rescued from it a few minutes previously, whereas the old man had tried to assist and had collapsed for no obvious reason."

"Oh God," I breathed. Dreadful images swam before my eyes: Jacqueline, with terrible wounds from the fire, and Jacques, breaking down in the brave attempt to find her. It was all my fault. I should have paid more attention to who left the house, and I shouldn't have let Jacques go back. After all, I knew how old he was. Fighting against tears, I asked: "What about Gabriel? The young man who was with them…".

"He's fine," the Inspector replied. "He was coughing a lot, but I guess that was only the smoke."

"And my husband?" I wanted to know. I had already been told that he was fine, but I needed to hear it again.

"He only has a few wounds, mainly in his face… strange wounds for a fire, if you ask me," he said pensively. "But apart from them, he seemed the healthiest of all."

The smile returned to my face. It was good to know that at least one member of my family had survived this terrible ordeal more or less unharmed.

"Can I go now?" I asked quickly "I'd like to see Raoul, my husband… and my children. I have to make sure they're all right as well. They need their mother."

The Inspector shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Madame, but that is impossible at the moment," he informed me, sounding very important. "I have to question you about what has happened here first. It is vital that I get as much information as I can from you, since your husband has refused to talk to me. He said I should talk to you first, so that you can go and see a doctor right afterwards. That's why I came here." He looked at me expectantly.

I thought quickly. Raoul had surely only meant well, but he had brought me into a rather difficult situation. While I did believe that I could make up a credible story, I did not believe that it would match the story Raoul would make up later, when I'd be at the doctor's. And what about the others?

I realised that it was dangerous for any of us to talk to the police on their own. I didn't care whether the criminals did it, for no one would believe them anyway, but what if Marielle and Pierre told a completely different version of the events? I wished we had talked about it, but now it was too late.

Pretending to have heard something behind me, I turned away from my conversation and tried to listen to what the other two were talking about with Paul.

"So I was walking down the street, and suddenly I noticed an odd smell, as if something was burning," Pierre was just saying. "And then I looked to the side and saw that the house I was walking past had just caught fire."

"Very interesting," Paul muttered, scribbling furiously. "So you saw the beginning of the fire. This could be most important. Where did it start?"

"It started… it started… I don't know where it started," Pierre admitted, throwing Marielle a sideways glance. It was clear that he didn't want to say anything wrong, but he didn't know the right answer either. After all, he had only come to help us when the house had been on fire for a while. He hadn't been responsible for how or where it had started.

"But you just said that you were there when the house caught fire," Paul reminded him, frowning as he checked his notes. "So you must have seen where it started. Was it the ground floor or the first floor? Or maybe the roof?"

With every option Paul added, Pierre looked more confused and helpless.

"I… I don't know it," he murmured. "Couldn't you ask someone else first?"

I saw Paul try to meet Inspector Claudoir's gaze and knew I had to act quickly. The problems had already started. I had just one chance that maybe would make the policemen question all of us together. But in order to achieve that, I had to play my role well.

"I won't answer any question without my husband," I declared loudly, making my voice sound shrill, almost hysterical. "I… I cannot do this without him… all the pressure… it's too much… I need my husband…"

"But he allowed me to talk to you," Inspector Claudoir reminded me, looking around nervously. He had clearly expected this to be far less difficult. Inspector Grenadelle and Paul had stopped talking, just like I had hoped they would, and were eyeing their colleague with great interest. The corners of Paul's mouth twitched suspiciously.

Compared to many other married women I knew, I had a very good life, for Raoul gave me all the freedom I needed. Yet at the moment, I had to forget all that. I had to be a poor, frightened woman who couldn't do anything without her husband at her side. If only it hadn't been such a long time since I had been on stage every night!

"I need my husband," I repeated urgently, my bottom lip trembling. "I need him… now!"


	165. Chapter One Hundred and SixtyFive

**Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Five**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Christine_

It was clear that Inspector Claudoir didn't have a wife. If he had had one, he'd have maybe known how to deal with someone else's as well. He'd have tried to persuade me to talk to him after all, possibly using flattery or words of encouragement. Yet since he wasn't married, he didn't seem to have any idea what to do with the hysterical woman in front of him. He was merely staring at me, as if hoping that I'd come to my senses if I was left along for a while.

His colleagues weren't helping him. Paul was still unsuccessfully trying to hide a grin, and by now, Inspector Grenadelle was looking rather amused as well. When he lifted his hand to run it through his hair, I could see a faint glimmer of gold at one of his fingers. So _he_ was married, but seemed to enjoy watching his colleague too much to help him.

My bottom lip was trembling dangerously, and I was afraid I'd have to pretend bursting into tears before I'd get what I wanted, but just as I clapped my hands over my face in an exaggerated gesture of despair, Inspector Claudoir seemed to have made up his mind at last.

"All right, all right," he murmured, giving a deep sigh. "You shall get your husband. Just don't cry. I can't stand women crying."

I took my hands away from my face at once, thinking that if I had had that particular piece of information sooner, I'd have begun my little performance by crying, thus saving us a lot of time.

"Paul," the Inspector went on in a resigned voice. "Go and fetch the Comte. Tell him… tell him his wife needs him desperately."

"Fetch the coachman as well," I added, trying to sound weak and imploring at the same time. I couldn't risk having Gabriel speak to the police alone either. The policemen threw me bewildered glances. I couldn't have explained to them why I needed Gabriel, yet fortunately it didn't seem to be necessary.

"Fetch the coachman as well then," Inspector Claudoir ordered faintly. "Do you want anyone else?"

For a moment, I seriously considered asking for my children, but I dismissed the idea quickly. I did want to see them, but I knew that this was not the right place for them to be at the moment. It would have only made them even more frightened than they probably already were. So I shook my head, and Paul walked away, shaking his head as well. I guessed he was counting his blessings that he wasn't married yet and wondered whether he should ever do so, if that was how women behaved.

I made sure that I looked terrified and dabbed at my eyes every now and then till Raoul and Gabriel arrived.

"Oh Raoul, I was so frightened without you!" I then exclaimed and flung my arms around him.

"What happened to you, Christine?" he asked me in a whisper, sounding truly concerned. "Did those criminals scare you? Or was it… someone else?"

"No," I replied hastily, ignoring the pointed remark about Erik. "No one scared me. The policemen just wanted to question everyone separately, and I couldn't let them to that. What if we all told them a different version of the events? So I pretended to be too frightened to answer questions without you, so that you'd have to come here."

"I have a very intelligent wife," Raoul muttered, his lips brushing my ear. "So… what is our story then?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I was too busy trying to make you come here to think of anything yet. Just make up something nice. And don't mention Erik. He has never been here, do you understand?" He nodded. At least he accepted it without asking questions.

"It's all right," Raoul said soothingly, raising his voice. "It's all right. I'm sorry for leaving you alone. Of course you don't have to talk to the police if you don't want to."

We broke apart, but he wrapped his arm around my waist protectively at once.

"How long have you been questioning her in this state?" he asked, glaring at the policemen. "You should have called for me right away. My poor little wife… how could you have treated her like this?"

As I threw my husband a sideways glance, it occurred to me that I wasn't the only person good at acting in our family.

"But… but you allowed us to talk to her," Inspector Claudoir said in a small voice.

"I would have never suggested it if I had known what a state she was in," Raoul retorted. "Look at her! She's trembling with fear." Actually I was shaking with silent laughter, but I hoped the policemen weren't able to tell the difference. "If it turns out that all this has had negative consequences on her health, I'll hold you responsible for it."

He seemed to be enjoying his role very much, but it was time to stop.

"It's enough," I whispered, shaking my head slightly. Playing the angry husband had been necessary at first, then it had been amusing, but one mustn't exaggerate. Inspector Claudoir looked very miserable, and I felt a pang of guilt. After all, he had done nothing wrong. It wasn't his fault that we had something to hide.

Raoul finished his role with a last glare at the policemen, then his face relaxed into a smile.

"So… you wanted to have some questions answered?" he asked Inspector Claudoir.

"Yes," the man replied quickly, a tentative smile appearing on his face. He apparently was glad that he was no longer being accused of having done something wrong, but he didn't dare trust the temporary peace either. It was amusing to see him address my husband only, as if afraid I might start sobbing at any wrong word. "I'd like to question your wife and you first, then I'll go on with the coachman. Paul, you can continue with the other two, and Inspector Grenadelle can question the suspects."

"The suspects haven't opened their mouths yet," Inspector Grenadelle informed him. "They haven't even told me their names. I'm not sure they understand our language at all."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marielle bite her lip. Of course she'd have been able to tell the policeman the men's names, but she couldn't have done so without appearing highly suspicious as well. So she remained silent.

"Hmm…" Inspector Claudoir made, his face screwed up in concentration. "Bring them to the police station then," he decided. "They probably wouldn't have told anything but lies anyway. You can take a couple of men to help you, and one of the coaches we arrived in. Perhaps they'll be more talkative later."

"But what about this one?" Inspector Grenadelle asked, pointing at Marielle's father. He was just trying to get to his feet, swaying dangerously, looking dazed and confused. "I can't keep an eye on all three of them at the same time."

Just then, two more policemen came towards us.

"The fire is under control, Inspector," one of them said. "The injured people have been moved away from the house, and the doctor is just examining them. There's nothing more for us to do. Can we go back to the station?"

"Yes, but take these suspects with you," Inspector Claudoir told them. "Inspector Grenadelle will accompany you."

The two policemen nodded, although it was clear that they'd have rather gome home unaccompanied. They took over the henchmen, while Inspector Grenadelle seized Marielle's father by the upper arm and all but dragged him along. Marielle looked after them for a long time.

"So…" Inspector Claudoir said when they were gone, rubbing his hands together in a business-like manner. "Can we start now?"

"No," Raoul replied pleasantly. "I've thought about it. You should question all of us at once. Think about how much time it'll save you."

"But that's not the way it is usually done," the Inspector argued. "We have to question each of you on their own, in case there are… erm, inconsistencies."

"Inconsistencies?" Raoul repeated, and I could sense that his role of the angry husband would soon be performed a second time. "Are you implying that my servants, this honest man from the street or even my wife and I could be lying to the police? How dare you say something like that? It's an outrage! What is your name, Inspector? I'll go and have a word with your superiour about your behaviour…"

"No," the Inspector gasped, two nervous spots of red appearing on his cheeks. "Of course I'm not implying anything like that. If you want to be questioned together, I'll… I'll do so." I could see in his eyes that he wanted nothing more than get over with everything quickly and go home.

"Very well," Raoul said, suddenly the friendliest person in Paris again. "What do you want to know?"


	166. Chapter One Hundred and SixtySix

**Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Six**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Raoul_

I wouldn't have believed it possible, but Christine's decision to always send Jacqueline to tell the children a bed-time story was wrong. She should rather send me instead, for I seemed to have quite the talent for making up stories. Well, since I was at home so rarely, the children would have to wait very long for their stories, so perhaps it was better to send Jacqueline after all.

But now, my story came just at the right time, and I almost wished Antoinette and Philippe would have been here as well to hear it. It was a fascinating experience to have all those people hanging to my every word. The young policeman was taking notes, and the older one merely listened. At the beginning, he had still asked questions every now and then, yet the longer I talked, the more silent he had become. Everyone was silent, everyone except myself. Christine sometimes coughed dryly, which made me speed up a little every time I heard it. She doubtlessly looked much healthier than before, but she did need a doctor.

At first, I had still been afraid that the policemen might frown and shake their heads, but the fear vanished quickly. I didn't know whether it was my talent as a story-teller or the fact that they didn't dare question anything told by a Comte which made them listen to me, yet actually it didn't matter either way, as long as they believed me.

The story I made up was very nice. I left out everything that had happened before the fire. As much as I disliked the thought that the criminals wouldn't be punished for those dreadful crimes that had made our family so unhappy, I was aware that it was too late to bring it up now. It would have caused many questions as to why we hadn't alerted the police sooner. I doubted the policemen would have liked to hear that we didn't trust them too much.

So I let my story begin this afternoon, claiming that Christine had told me all about it. The fewer people talked, the fewer contradictions there could be, and Christine didn't seem to mind remaining silent. She was still playing the role of the frightened wife, and she was playing it very well.

Accroding to my new version of the events, the criminals had tried to break into the house and steal everything they could carry. Yet when they hadn't managed to enter the house, rage and frustration had made them set it on fire. I didn't tell tell the policemen about the chaos of who had left the house when and had come back for which reason, but simply let everyone remain inside the house. Larisse had only enumerated the true story for me very quickly when we had met at the gate, and I hardly recalled it myself. Besides, since I couldn't say anything about the conversation with Marielle's father, the whole story would have sounded even stranger than it already did.

I invented an errand for Gabriel which had made him leave the house. On returning, he had met me as well as a brave stranger in the street in front of the house, which had already been on fire at that time. I later found out that it didn't match Pierre's version of the events, but the policemen didn't comment on it. They seemed to have decided that my story was the only one they believed.

Larisse and the children had managed to escape from the burning house in one way or the other, and I had sent them straight to the police, while we men had gone to see whether we could help the others. Of course we had had no idea that the ones responsible for the fire had still been around at that time, or we'd have waited for the police. Yet seeing the house burn and knowing that my wife had still been in it, I had simply had to act. Christine was clinging to me while I was talking, throwing me admiring glances. I had to admit that it felt rather good to be adored like that. Even the wounds in my face weren't stinging that much anymore.

Once we had walked around the house, we had spotted the criminals at once, standing there and gloating. I couldn't quite explain why they hadn't left, but Inspector Claudoir helped me, assuming that they had stayed to wait for the house to burn down completely, so they they could search the ruins for valuables. Personally, I thought the explanation didn't make sense, for the criminals would have had to wait for hours, yet since the policeman had brought it up, I certainly wouldn't argue with him about it.

The moment the criminals had seen us, they had started a fight, and we hadn't known what else to do than defend ourselves. Growing bold, I added that we had only done so to give the people still trapped in the house the chance to escape. At that point, Christine gave me a little nudge, telling me without words not to exaggerate, lest I made the policemen suspicious. So I went on quickly, saying that during the fight, the people in the house had indeed managed to escape, yet the criminals had run after them to keep them from going to the police.

The honest man from the street, who had by now introduced himself as Pierre, had gone after them, and in the meantime, we had noticed that our dear maid Jacqueline had been missing. So the brave coachman had gone inside to find her, and the butler Jacques and I had helped from the outside. It was fortunate that Gabriel and I had talked about it before, so that at least this part of the story was close to what had really happened.

I also told the policemen that the whole situation had simply been too much for the elderly butler, and he had collapsed. My voice faltered, and I had to make a little pause. Finding my dear old butler, my companion since my birth, lying in a heap on the ground, his face white and his eyes closed, had been one of the most horrible experiences of my life. I didn't have to pretend that I was moved. I suppressed a sigh, fervently hoping that Jacques would recover. If he didn't, I'd never forgive myself for not having taken him with me to Oslo. I should have at least stayed with him till the doctor arrived. Perhaps I'd have been able to do something…

A polite little cough reminded me that this was not the right time for pondering. I finished my story by telling them that Gabriel had come back with Jacqueline and that we had decided to wait for the police rather than leaving the injured people alone.

"That is all," I said, taking a deep breath. I wasn't used to talking that much. Surely the bed-time stories for Antoinette and Philippe never were that long.

"Very well, M. le Comte," Inspector Claudoir muttered, sounding a little exhausted himself. "Have you written down everything important, Paul?"

The young policeman nodded, holding up his notes.

"Can we finally go now?" I asked. "My wife needs to see a doctor."

"Erm… no," Inspector Claudoir replied uneasily. "I'm afraid that won't be possible yet. Your wife… she still has some questions to answer."

"But I told you everything," I protested. "Surely there can be nothing else you want to know."

"As a matter of fact, there is," he said stiffly. "I think I can do with the information you gave me about how the fire started, since your wife told you about it. However, you stayed behind at the house while she ran away. So I need to know what happened in the garden, especially since it ended with one man lying on the ground, unconscious." He pointed at the spot where Marielle's father had been.

"All right," I agreed. "You can question her, but only as long as she feels able to. Christine, dear, do you think you can answer a few questions for the policeman?" She nodded faintly, clutching my hand for support. "Well, then tell him what happened when you ran away."

"That man followed me," she muttered, staring at the ground. She was indeed playing her role very well. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought it had really happened that way.

"He followed me here, where I couldn't escape," she went on, her voice trembling. "Of course I couldn't climb over the wall. He tried to grab me by the arm and pull me back, but I pushed him away, and he fell to the ground. He must have hit his head on something. I didn't mean to hurt him, I promise."

"You only defended yourself," Inspector Claudoir assured her, throwing her a cautious glance. It seemed as if he were afraid the memory might make her burst into tears. "It was just the right thing to do. I'm sure your husband is very proud of you as well."

"Oh yes," I agreed. "Very proud indeed." Yet no matter what I said, I didn't believe that it had truly been Christine who had caused the man to pass out. I strongly suspected the Phantom had had something to do with it, but of course I couldn't bring up that topic now.

"Now all I need to know is what happened to you," Inspector Claudoir said, gesturing at Marielle and Pierre. "I'm particularly interested in the origin of the pistol."

I saw them Marielle and Pierre exchange a meaningful glance and knew they had prepared themselves for the question.

"It's mine," Pierre replied. "I had it with me on my walk… for security reasons. The streets of Paris aren't as safe as they used to be. And when I went after this woman to protect her from the criminals, I used the pistol to threaten them. I wouldn't have actually shot anyone, of course."

Inspector Claudoir frowned.

"You're taking a pistol with you when going for a walk in one of the wealthiest neighbourhoods in Paris?" he asked.

"It's not as safe as it used to be," I hastened to argue. "Who'd have believed that criminals would try to break into a house in broad daylight?"

Inspector Claudoir opened his mouth, then closed it again, apparently lost for words. I thought it was time to repeat the one important question I had.

"Can we finally go now?"


	167. Chapter One Hundred and SixtySeven

**Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Seven**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Christine_

It took the Inspector another half an hour to get through all kinds of formalities before we were finally free to go. The policemen retreated to the house, probably to check whether they were still needed there. With all that I had learned about Inspector Claudoir tonight, I was sure he'd find an activity to keep himself busy. Men like him couldn't bear being unoccupied.

"So… where are we going now?" Raoul asked, looking at me.

"How am I supposed to know the answer to that complicated question?" I muttered, batting my eyelashes, a silly smile on my lips. "I'm just a frightened little woman."

"Of course," he gave back, rolling his eyes in a way that a frightened little woman would have found highly offensive. "How could I have forgotten what a delicate little creature you are?" He leaned down to me, and we shared a long, loving kiss. It felt like the first kiss for a very long time. My body tingled pleasantly.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made us break apart. Marielle came walking towards us. I had been too busy to realise she had even left.

"I don't want to interrupt you, but we should really get away from here," she reminded us. "I've just talked to that young policeman to tell him about where the police can find Victor and what he has to do with everything. But now we should go. If Inspector Claudoir sees that we're still here, he'll probably come back and question us again."

Raoul and I looked at each other and nodded. She had a point. I didn't think I could stand being asked questions a second time, and Raoul appeared to be completely exhausted as well.

"We should go to the de Gableauxs first," I said, in my normal voice. The time for playing games was over, at least for the moment. "Larisse and the children are there. And afterwards…" I shrugged. "I don't know. Erik wanted to go and ask Meg whether we can stay with her, but… What time is it?"

"Half past eight," Raoul replied, consulting his pocket watch. I noticed that the glass was broken, probably from the fight.

Where had the time gone? It felt as if I had only left the house to go to the opera a few minutes ago… or else a life-time ago. I couldn't tell which one was more likely. It was as if we had lived outside the normal time for the last hours, only to be thrown back into it now. It wasn't dark in the garden yet, which created an illusion of day-time, yet only now did I realise that it was just the fire shining brightly from the house, like a bizzare version of the sun. The part of the garden close to the wall was illuminated by the streetlamps outside as well, but apart from the, it was pefectly dark.

"Half past eight?" I repeated slowly, thinking hard. "Meg's performance isn't nearly over. Erik won't have had time to talk to her yet."

It felt strange to think that life had gone on just as usual for the rest of the world, that there was a place where people had spent the last hour laughing and applauding, with nothing to worry about except whether they liked the music they were listening to or whether their clothes were appropriate for the opera.

I looked down at myself. My clothes were dirty and torn in some places. I thought back to how carefully I had chosen them in the morning. Would I have chosen different clothes if I had known what would happen? Probably not. If I had known what would happen, I'd have made my children and everyone else leave the house and not come back until everything was over. That would have been far more important than clothes.

I could have actually lost them. I could have lost some of the most important people in my life. The knowledge had been at the back of my mind all the time, but now it attacked me without warning. I started trembling and broke out in a cold sweat. My breathing turned into panting as I realised what a narrow miss it had been. I could have lost my children.

"Christine? Christine, what's wrong with you?" Raoul called. It sounded as if he were very far away. I looked at him, but couldn't get his picture to stand still. It was spinning around.

"Make her lie down," someone else said. "And get the doctor!"

The earth shuddered, and I was lifted off my feet. I closed my eyes, listening to nothing but the pounding of the blood in my ears. My children…

"Madame?" Somebody was patting my cheek gently. "Madame de Chagny?"

I opened my eyes slowly, pleased to see that the world had stopped spinning. It was a small comfort. Looking up, I saw a man kneeling next to me. He had short, iron-grey hair and a rather large nose. I had never met him before.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"My name is Marette," he replied slowly and clearly. "I am a doctor."

A second face appeared next to his.

"Christine! Are you all right?" Raoul wanted to know nervously. "We were talking, and suddenly you fainted. We fetched the doctor as quickly as we could. Oh, this is all my fault. I should have insisted that you went to him while I was talking to the police. I made you wait too long. I should have – "

"I'm fine," I interrupted him, groping blindly for his hand. When I found it, I squeezed it reassuringly. "You shouldn't have done anything differently. If you had brought me to the doctor sooner, Inspector Claudoir would have come to me later to talk about everything, and that's exactly what I wanted to avoid."

He gave me a tentative smile.

"How is she, Doctor Marette?" he then asked.

"Well, she woke up fairly quickly, she can talk, and she seems to remember all that has happened," the doctor replied. "Those are all good signs. The bump on the side of her head will still hurt for a while, and for a few weeks, she should avoid everything that makes her exhausted. Combine it with a healthy diet and a lot of rest, and she'll be fine in no time." He smiled down at me.

I would have been content with the diagnosis, but my husband wasn't.

"But why did she faint then?" he wanted to know. "One moment we were having a normal conversation, and in the next she passed out. Can this happen again?"

The doctor threw me a sideways glance, then he leaned closer to Raoul. It was clear that he didn't want me to hear what he was saying, but I strained my ears and could understand at least a little of it.

"…has been through a lot today," the doctor whispered. "…such a reaction… not surprising at all… the consequences on the mind are worse than the physical ones… she watched her house burn… she was nearly killed… if she ponders about what could have happened, things like that can occur again, yes… you've got to ease her mind… be gentle…"

He straightened up and smiled at me again, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. Yet this time, I did not return the smile. I didn't like people who treated me like a stupid child.

"I believe there are still more people I should pay a visit to," he said.

"Yes, there are," Raoul answered. "As a matter of fact, you should probably better have a look at all of us. We've all been involved, in one way or the other."

"I see," the doctor muttered, looking at Raoul's face. "But right here and now? Well, I'll see what I can do."

I closed my eyes again as he got to his feet. I wasn't feeling faint anymore, but at the moment, there was nothing to see anyway. I listened to the footsteps around me, to mumbled words and different kinds of sounds telling me that Doctor Marette was examining Raoul, Marielle and Pierre.

I only opened my eyes when he said:

"Well, that should be enough for the moment. You've all been very lucky. No permanent damage has been done by the fire. However, I shall come to you tomorrow morning and examine you again, just to make sure everything is all right. Send me a note saying where to find you.".

He turned around and was about to leave when I scrambled to my feet and caught him by the arm.

"You can't go yet," I told him. "You have to see my children first."

"But I've already done so, Madame," he said. "I thought you knew about it. That was the reason why I didn't come here sooner. A woman waited for me at the gate to your estate and said I had to examine two children in the house next to yours first. She claimed they had been involved in the fire, too. So I had a look at them – and at the woman herself as well – and I can assure you they're fine. Very exhausted and a little scared, but fine. They'll have to stay in bed for one or two days, but they'll make a full recovery."

"Oh, thank God," I breathed. "And what about Jacqueline and Jacques?" I asked a moment later. "The two people who were unconscious?"

"They have been brought to hospital," he answered. "Their condition is very serious, and… but they'll be fine." He smiled yet again, but didn't meet my eye. I strongly suspected that he was doing what he had called ´easing my mind´.

Raoul seemed to have noticed it as well, for he said:

"Please, Doctor, give us an honest answer. Will they recover?".

The doctor looked from my husband to me and back.

"I don't know," he replied quietly. "The smoke seems to have done a lot of damage to the young woman's lungs, and the man… we, he is rather old, and unless I'm much mistaken, he has had problems with his heart before. But all that is only the result of my first examination, before I sent them to hospital. It could have already become much better by now."

"Or much worse," Raoul uttered what I was thinking as well. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

"Try to recover as well as you can," the doctor answered. "And pray. Praying always helps."


	168. Chapter One Hundred and SixtyEight

**Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Eight**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Christine_

The door was opened before we could even knock.

"Good evening, Mesdames and Messieurs," a butler greeted us. "Would you kindly step inside? Mme. de Gableaux avaits you in the sitting room." The expression on the man's face was perfectly smooth, like the shiny surface of a lake. Even as he took in our appearance, no sign of disapproval could be seen. He acted as though he welcomed the dirty and tired victims of fires every day.

I entered the house after my husband and found myself in the entrance hall. It was rather large, and there were at least half a dozen corridors leading from it. The house seemed to be even bigger than it looked like from the outside. I had only been here on a few occasions, and the last time had been a couple of months ago, so it wasn't surprising that I didn't remember it too well.

"Mademoiselle? Monsieur?" the butler addressed Marielle and Pierre, who had come in last and were looking around, obviously very uneasy in the face of so much wealth. "Would you care to go upstairs to your friend? I'll have food and drink brought up there as well." It sounded like a polite request, but the dismissal was unmistakable. He seemed to think that they were servants as well and didn't want them to go to his mistress.

Marielle and Pierre nodded. I threw them a slightly anxious glance, afraid they might be offended, yet they appeared to be relieved.

"Janelle!" the butler called, and a maid emerged from a room next to the door. "Please show those two the way to their friend."

"Of course," Janelle said readily, smiling. "This way, please." She led them up a staircase and out of sight.

"Would you like to leave your coats here?" the butler asked. He was clearly following the usual procedure for guests, but Raoul and I could only shake our heads about it. It was rather strange to be treated this… normally, as if we were merely coming over for a cup of tea. We were both wearing coats, as a matter of fact. I had been in no condition to take off mine after the criminals had brought me back, and Raoul had had other things to keep him busy when he had come to the house.

We shrugged off our coats and handed them to the butler, who seized them with the same stoic expression on his face and brought them to the coatrack, leaving rather more space than necessary between them and the rest of the clothes.

Noticing how gingerly Raoul moved his left arm, I whispered:

"Is everything all right? Your arm…".

"What? Oh yes," he gave back. "Someone kicked my shoulder during the fight. I expect to get a very colourful bruise, but it's nothing to worry about." He gave me a lopsided smile.

"I'm so sorry," I muttered, patting his other shoulder, wondering how much the embrace I had pulled him into before must have hurt him and how bravely he had endured it.

"I'm fine, really," he assured me. "It's nothing compared to what Jacqueline and Jacques have gone through…"

We were looking at each other in silence, lost in thought, till the butler said:

"If you'd follow me now, please…".

He led us down a corridor to the right. At the fourth door, he stopped and pulled it open.

"The Comte and Comtess de Chagny, Madame," he announced, ushering us inside.

The sitting room was as large as it could be expected in a house of that size. The furniture was very tasteful, with tables and bookshelves made of dark wood and sofas with thick plush upholstery. I felt the urgent wish to wash myself before sitting down anywhere here, but I knew it was not the right time to do so, even if I had had clothes to change into.

I barely had time for that thought before two small figures rushed towards me and flung their little arms around me.

"Maman! Maman!" they cried.

"Ant- Phili-" I stammered, not knowing who to greet first. I was so glad that both of them were here, alive and well. All the panic I had felt before, those horrible emotions that had made me pass out, seemed unfounded all of a sudden. I leaned down and embraced them for a long time. The simple pleasure of holding them in my arms had never felt this sweet before.

At last I remembered that there was someone else the children had to greet, someone they probably hadn't even noticed so far in their haste to get to me as quickly as possible.

"Look who's here!" I told them. "It's your father!"

The children looked up, and a moment later they were gone, clinging to Raoul's legs as they had clung to my skirts. For a moment, I felt the sharp sting of jealousy, but as I saw them together, saw how happy Raoul and the little ones were, that negative feeling vanished as quickly as it had come.

"Papa! Papa!" Antoinette called merrily. "Have you brought us a present? Oh…" She fell silent abruptly, and judging from what I could see from her face, she blushed. I wouldn't have believed that she already possessed so much social awareness that she knew her question had been inappropriate in this situation. Of course neither Raoul nor I scolded her. On the contrary: I thought it heart-warming that the old, ever-curious Antoinette was still there.

"As a matter of fact, I have brought you presents," Raoul replied kindly. "And they weren't even damaged in the fire. You see, the coach I came to Paris with had a little accident, and one of its wheels broke. So I told the coachman to have it repaired and bring me my suitcases later. Since your presents are in those suitcases, it's only a matter of time till they'll arrive."

The children smiled, but their smiles weren't as broad as they'd have usually been when presents were mentioned. Antoinette and Philippe had learned the lesson that there were things more important than presents. It was a valuable lesson, yes, and still I wished they could have learned it in a less painful way.

Looking up from them, I saw that someone else had made their way across the room. Comtess Ginevra de Gableaux came to a halt in front of me.

"Christine…" she said, nodding as a sign of welcome. "I tried to make your children lie down and sleep, and in fact, they did lie down for a while with your cook upstairs. But when they heard you'd be coming here soon, they insisted on waiting for you, even though it must be well past their bed-time. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all, Ginevra, not at all," I assured her. "I wanted to see them awake anyway." I didn't add that at least Philippe always had problems with falling asleep in a place he didn't know. Erik's home was an exception. "They didn't cause you too much trouble, did they?" I asked.

Ginevra went over to a sofa, and I followed her, throwing a last glance at Raoul, who was talking to the children in a low voice.

"Oh no," she then replied airily. "It was quite the surprise, though. I had just sat down with my needle-work when Janelle came in and told me there were a woman and two children at the door. Of course I thought of you right away, since your family is one of the few with small children in this neighbourhood. Yet it turned out to be your new cook instead of you, and the story she told me…" She shook her head. "Well, we alerted the police right away, and I gave the three a room upstairs. Your husband and you can have one as well, by the way. I have so many empty rooms, you know, for the times when the children come to visit us."

I nodded. I knew that Ginevra and her husband, a very friendly man who was hardly ever home, had two sons and a daughter, all of whom were married and had childred of their own.

"Thank you for the offer," I said. "But we've already sent a… erm, a messenger to my friend, who'll surely take us in. I'm not sure how quickly she'll receive the message, though. So it would be very friendly if we could stay here for a little while longer."

"Of course you can stay, as long as you like," Ginevra told me gently. "Are you hungry? I'll have my cook prepare something for you."

She didn't wait for my reply, but waved at a servant to come closer and started giving him instructions. This gave me time to let my thoughts wander. Inevitably, they arrived at Erik. He wouldn't have been pleased to know that I was referring to him as a mere messenger. But then, what else should I have said? ´I sent the Phantom of the Opera, who is a very good friend of mine and also shared my bed last night´?

I couldn't help thinking about when he'd be here. Perhaps he'd accompany Meg. Or else he'd arrive late at night, when everyone would be sleeping. What would I tell him? Would he expect some kind of decision concerning Raoul and him?

"Madame!"

Thankfully, my thoughts were interrupted by the butler who had let us in. He was standing at the door.

"There's a man at the entrance door. He wishes to speak to Mme. de Chagny."


	169. Chapter One Hundred and SixtyNine

**Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Nine**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Christine_

I couldn't keep my spirits from soaring high into the air like birds. There were only two people who could wish to speak to me (three, if Mme.Giry had been informed as well), and since Meg clearly didn't belong into the category ´men´, only one other person remained: Erik. Instintively, my hands moved up to smoothe my hair.

Yet even though I was glad that he was here, I couldn't help feeling a little worried as well. I began to wonder why he had come alone. There had to be a reason why he wasn't accompanied by Meg, for if he were, the butler would have surely said so. Perhaps Erik wanted to talk to me without anyone listening, like we had done in the garden. I wouldn't mind that… except if he'd use the chance to bring up the subject of… well, of us. Was there even an ´us´ anymore, now that Raoul was back?

Without thinking about it, I had taken over the role of Raoul's wife again when the Inspector had asked me who I was. I had referred to Raoul as my husband, and not once had I considered that Erik had been my husband as well. Had it merely been a matter of what I was used to, given the fact that I was married to Raoul for more than a decade, or had it been an instinctive decision? Decision… I didn't like the sound of the word.

And what if Erik found out how easily he had been replaced? He'd be furious… or else very sad. None of it had been my intention, but would he believe me if I told him? He did love me, yes, but he wasn't a very trusting man. He didn't believe others readily, and given his personal history, I couldn't blame him.

"Mme. de Chagny?" the butler addressed me politely. Startled, I realised that I had been staring into space, lost in the world of my own thoughts, for at least a minute, while he waited for an instruction what to do with the man at the door.

"He may come in," I replied, only to take it back a moment later. "No, I'll… I'll come with you and meet him at the door."

It had only just occurred to me that maybe Erik would like to discuss the situation with Raoul present, which was something I wanted to avoid as long as possible. Both men had already had one fight today. A second one – this time against each other – really wasn't necessary. How should we have explained the fresh wounds to the doctor when he came to examine us tomorrow?

I got up from the sofa, muttering "Excuse me for a moment, Ginevra". Crossing the room, I tried to ignore the way Raoul's gaze followed me. It was rather unsettling. I had the suspicion that his idea of who was at the door was very similar to mine, yet unlike me, he didn't think that meeting Erik alone was a good idea. But then, he couldn't do anything to prevent it. The children were still keeping him busy with questions, so that he could only look after me as I left the room.

It wasn't a very long way to the entrance door, but it was long enough for a thousand new worries to flutter through my head like a flock of excited butterflies. What would Erik say? And what would I say to him? Would he be in a good mood or a bad mood? And, as if I didn't have enough on my mind already, I also had to worry about what the butler would do. Would he leave us alone or report everything back to his mistress?

The butterflies came to a halt when we reached the open entrance door. My mind needed a few moments to take in what I was seeing. This just couldn't be right. It was supposed to be Erik standing outside. The butler had said so… No, actually he hadn't. The butler had said that it was a man, and my mind had drawn the logical conclusion. Apparently it hadn't been that logical after all.

"Jean," I muttered, shaking my head. The butterflies vanished.

Meg's husband gave me a warm smile.

"Christine," he said in a voice filled with compassion, pulling me into a brief embrace. "How are you? And how is everyone else?"

"We're… it's difficult to describe," I replied honestly. One never had to pretend anything with Jean. He was a very understanding man. "We've lost all we had. We don't even know where we'll spend the night."

"In our house," Jean said simply. "You can stay till your home will be redecorated or till you've found a new place, depending on how serious the damage is. It doesn't matter how long it'll take – a week, a month, a year. We have more than enough space, even if you wish to move in with all your servants."

"I'm not sure about them," I told him as we walked back to the sitting room slowly. "Larisse has a family of her own, so maybe she'll rather stay with them. Jacqueline and Jacques are both in hospital, and I have no idea what will become of Marielle and Pierre, now that their home will be searched by the police. And Gabriel… I don't even know where he is."

I stopped dead. This was something I had only just noticed. Where _was_ Gabriel? He had still been with us when Raoul had told the Inspector his story, but he had not entered the house with the rest of us. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have been that anxious about a grown-up man wandering off by himself, but these weren't normal circumstances.

"Excuse me?" I addressed the butler, who was walking two steps ahead of us, trying not to appear as if he were listening to out conversation. "I know I have no right to give you orders, but could you fetch the three guests from upstairs, please?"

"Of course, Madame," he replied with a brief nod, turning around and walking away in the direction we had just come from.

"Why should we wonder what they'll do when we can as well ask them?" I muttered, half to myself. "And I'll be able to see whether they know where Gabriel has gone."

Jean threw me a sideways glance.

"I don't mean to sound rude, but I don't understand half of what you're saying," he remarked cautiously. "I know that Larisse is your cook, but who are Marielle and Pierre? And why are Jacqueline and Jacques in hospital? The Opera Ghost only gave me a few very basic pieces of information before I left, I'm afraid."

Now I was the one who didn't understand.

"Why did Erik come to you at all?" I asked. "He wanted to go and see Meg at the opera…"

"And that was what he did," Jean assured me. "You see, I was sitting in the audience, watching the performance. When I went to talk to Meg in the interval, he was already there, telling her about everything that had happened to you. Of course she wanted to come here right away, but her mother made her stay. She herself couldn't come either, because the chorus girls don't know when they have to be on stage if she's not there. But they'll both leave as quickly as possible after the performance. They've sent me, since I was the only one who could go without problems. Besides, I couldn't have enjoyed the performance after such news anyway. I had to see for myself whether you're all right."

"And Erik?" I asked. "What kept him from accompanying you?"

Jean shrugged.

"He said there were things he had to do first, whatever that means. He gave me that look, you know, that look which tells one not to ask questions unless one wants to die a slow, painful death."

For a moment, the mask of compassion slipped, and I could see the excitement in his eyes. He seemed positively delighted about having been given that look by the Opera Ghost. Knowing how much Jean adored that man and all the tales about him, I smiled. Still I couldn't help thinking about what it could be that Erik had to do. Was it something… illegal?

Throwing any such thoughts out of my mind, I told Jean all about this day, starting with the morning. He was a very good listener, making surprised or sympathetic sounds at exactly the right points. I only stopped talking when I heard voices behind me in the corridor. Some moments later, we were joined by Marielle, Larisse, Pierre and the butler and made our way to the sitting room together after I had introduced Jean to them quickly.

We entered the room in the middle of what sounded like an argument between Raoul and the children. The moment Antoinette spotted me, she ran towards me.

"Maman!" she called, oblivious to the other people who had come in as well. "Papa is unfriendly to us! He won't tell us who made our house burn and why they did it! But you'll tell us, won't you?"


	170. Chapter One Hundred and Seventy

**Chapter One Hundred and Seventy**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Raoul_

I looked after Antoinette as she ran over to her mother, fervently wishing I had managed to hold her back. It was bad enough that the girl had so many questions I could not give her answers to, yet bothering Christine with them was even worse. The doctor had advised me to ease her mind, and that was rather difficult if she had to think about all that had happened again and again.

Christine threw me a slightly helpless glance over the top of our daughter's head.

"If your father didn't answer certain questions, he surely had his reasons for doing so," she said cautiously. "All this is very complicated, especially for children."

"Then don't tell Philippe," Antoinette suggested at once, gesturing at her brother, who was still standing in front of me and watching his sister curiously. "He's still very small. But you can tell me. I'm not a little child anymore – I'm nearly ten years old." I had to suppress a chuckle. Antoinette's tenth birthday wouldn't be until March, but she always started waiting for it in April.

"Your father and I will tell you all that we think is good for you to know at the moment," Christine assured her. "But now is not the right time to do so. We'll tell you later, once we'll be alone."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Mme. de Gableaux made to stand up and shook my head slightly. Apparently she thought that she was supposed to leave us alone right now. I, on the other hand, interpreted Christine's words differently. She wanted to talk to the children later, when she and I would have had time to agree on a version of the events which would be suitable for them.

"Yes, we really don't have enough time now," I hastened to stress, before someone else could think about leaving the room. Letting my gaze wander over the people assembled at the door and catching sight of someone who had not been there before, I added: "Look! Uncle Jean has come here!".

This had been exactly the right remark to distract Antoinette with. She turned away from Christine and beamed at Jean, instantly starting to tell him all she knew about what had happened. For the moment, it wasn't important that she still hadn't had her questions answered. All that mattered was that she knew more about the incident than Jean. Given the fact that I saw him exchange a knowing glance with Christine, I guessed she had already filled him in, but he was far too friendly to say so. He merely let the girl talk.

Christine seized the chance to come over to where Philippe and I were standing.

"Jean has come to see us because Meg and Mme.Giry couldn't leave the opera yet," she informed us. "He says that we can stay with them as long as we want."

I smiled in relief. It was true that we could have easily found rooms in a hotel, but living with our friends would be much nicer, for the children as well as for Christine and me. Fire or no fire, I'd have to go and see my business partner tomorrow, and leaving would be much easier if I knew that my family wasn't alone in a hotel.

"So the man at the door wasn't… you know… _he_?" I uttered my suspicion. I didn't have to ask whether she had also assumed that it had been the Phantom, for I knew the answer. One look at her flushed cheeks told me all I needed to know.

She shook her head.

"Jean told me he had something else to do first," she muttered quickly, looking down at her feet. "But maybe… maybe he'll come here or to Meg's house later."

I didn't have time to react to that less-than-pleasant revelation, for Philippe blurted out:

"Who will come here? One of the bad men?".

He looked around wildly, as if searching for a way of escaping. His eyes were wide with fear. Quickly I bent down and wrapped my arms around his trembling body, feeling a rush of protectiveness for this little person… as well as a rush of pain as he clung to my injured shoulder.

"Of course not," I assured him. "All the bad men are in prison. They're being watched by many policemen, and they can't come out. You don't have to worry."

"I wasn't talking about one of them, but about Uncle Erik," Christine added, somewhere above us.

At once, Philippe let go of me and turned around to face his mother.

"Uncle Erik?" he repeared excitedly. "He'll come here? When?"

"I don't know," Christine replied. "Jean couldn't tell me either. I guess he'll be here as soon as he has the time to come."

They went on chatting about Uncle Erik, but I didn't listen. I felt like screaming. Philippe had had the Phantom all the time for the last days, and still he missed him the moment he was gone, even though I was here. I was the boy's father, for Heaven's sake! How could this man mean more to him than I did?

I left my wife and son to their happy little conversation and went over to greet Jean. Antoinette seemed to be finished with her story, and I quickly seized the chance to talk before she'd introduce another topic.

"Good evening, Jean," I addressed him. Sensing boring adult talk, my daughter walked away, to Larisse and Marielle. "So you know about everything now?" I jerked my head into Antoinette's direction.

"Oh yes," Jean answered with a kind smile at her. "It was very interesting. The Opera Ghost had already told me a few things, but he didn't go into detail. But then, he is a very busy man. I was glad that he talked to me at all."

I saw the dreamy expression on Jean's face and could hardly suppress a groan. How could I have forgotten that I was talking to another admirer of the Phantom? It was simply absurd. A grown-up man who listened to fantastic tales like a little child! And now that he had actually met the protagonist of all those tales in person, the admiration seemed to have grown even stronger. Ridiculous…

If I had been able to do so, I'd have walked away again, yet in the middle of a conversation, that wouldn't have been very friendly. So I merely muttered:

"Yes, he's a very busy man," and changed the subject. "Will we all be able to stay with you then?" I asked him. "If you don't have enough space, we can go to a hotel, of course. Or we can stay here. I'm sure Mme. de Gableaux wouldn't mind."

"You'll stay with us," Jean said. "I've already discussed it all with Christine. The only thing she didn't know was whether your servants will come with you. That's why we brought them here."

"There's only one way to find out," I told him, eager to talk about anything that didn't concern the Phantom. "Could you all listen to me for a moment, please?" I called loudly. Every head turned into my direction, and the other conversations stopped. "We were just talking about where we'll stay. Christine, the children and I will go with M.Tavoire here, but where the rest of you wants to stay is up to you."

"There'd also be plenty of work for you, in and around the house" Jean added. "Our housekeeper isn't able to do much at the moment, for she has had an accident. So you don't have to worry that you won't have anything do to."

"I'll come with you then," Larisse decided. "It sounds just like the right kind of work for me. I couldn't bear sitting at home all day, doing nothing. But… as far as I know, the Tavoire estate is rather far from here, isn't it? How am I supposed to get home every evening?"

"That won't be a problem," Jean assured her. "Two of our servants live in the centre of Paris as well, and they can always take one of our coaches. You'll be able to go with them."

"Thank you, Monsieur," Larisse muttered, smiling.

"I know that we don't belong to you, but Pierre and I also need a place to stay," Marielle stated tentatively. "We don't know anyone in Paris except for friends of my father's, and they are criminals as well. We don't want to have anything to do with them." Pierre nodded in agreement. "So we'd be very grateful if we could come with you. Of course we'd work as well. I could look after the children as long as Jacqueline is in hospital, and Pierre is rather good with his hands. He could repair things…"

"You can come with us," Christine said gently. "You started belonging to us the moment you chose our side. We wouldn't leave you alone now. But do tell me: Where's Gabriel? I haven't seen him since – "

She was interrupted by the sounds coming through the open window. A loud, wild neighing, followed by a howl of pain. Christine and I exchanged a glance. Of course! We had completely forgotten the horses in our stable. And it seemed that Gabriel had not forgotten them.


	171. Chapter One Hundred and SeventyOne

**Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-One**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Raoul_

There was no time to lose. Quickly I marched over to the door and pulled it open.

"Gabriel must be in trouble," I stated. "I have to go and see whether I can help him. Who will come with me?"

Antoinette was the first to reach the door, looking up at me expectantly.

"No," I said flatly, trying to ignore her by now pleading gaze. I had fallen for it many times, but today I'd be strong. I wouldn't expose a child to such dangers. "You stay here with your mother."

Christine opened her mouth, as if to argue, and closed it again, nodding.

"Come here, Antoinette," she called. "We can go to the horses another time." The girl walked over to her and Philippe obediently, though rather reluctantly. They all sat down on the sofa, next to Mme. de Gableaux. Marielle and Larisse followed them, settling down on chairs. They didn't seem to have any intention to accompany me.

Pierre and Jean, on the other hand, stepped forwards.

"Horses like me," Pierre declared. "That's why I always was the coachman for Mast- for Marielle's father," he corrected himself, looking rather sheepish.

"I'll come with you, too," Jean said. "If there is an emergency, you'll need all the help you can get, and I'm the only one who hasn't done anything so far."

"You can bring the horses into our stable if it's not safe for them to stay in yours," Mme de Gableaux offered. "There should be enough space. I'll send the stablemaster to prepare everything. But do make sure the horses are calm before you take them inside. I don't want mine to become nervous as well."

We nodded hastily and went out of the door. Servants looked after us as we ran down the corridor towards the entrance door. I pulled it open, panting slightly. I didn't feel like running anymore, but I didn't have another choice. If Gabriel had really gone into the stable and had been injured by the horses, we had to get him out quickly.

As we made our way back to the place I had left not even an hour ago, I wondered whether this day would ever be over. Just when I had hoped things would calm down a little, something else had happened. Where had our quiet, peaceful life gone? Would things ever be normal again?

The men of the firebrigade didn't see us as we slid through the open gate and hurried towards the stable. They were too busy extinguishing the flames that were still licking up the walls. There seemed to be less fire, but even more smoke than before. Fortunately for us, the wind was blowing into a different direction at the moment, away from the stable, so that it didn't obscure our vision.

We didn't have to go all the way to the stable. A few yards away from it, we stopped, gaping at the scene we met. A person and a horse were struggling on the threshold, illiuminated by the light coming from inside the small building.

The horse, a slender mare whose name I believed was Etoile, couldn't seem to make up her mind where to go. The stable apparently was just as dangerous as the lawn outside. She held her head high in the air, ears moving nervously from side to side, nostrils wide.

The person, a muscular young man whose name I was sure was Gabriel, clung to the rope he had fastened to her halter.

"Good girl," he said soothingly. "Good girl… Now come with me… You don't want to stay in there, do you?" It was a miracle to me that he managed to remain calm while dealing with a terrified and possibly dangerous horse.

At last, Etoile seemed to become aware of the fact that the person at her side wsn't just an annoying someone who had to be shaken off, but her friend Gabriel. She lowered her head, her tense muscles relaxing visibly.

"Good girl…" Gabriel cooed. "Come…"

He tugged at the rope, and Etoile walked next to him… only to stop dead two steps later, when she spotted us.

Gabriel was far more pleased to see us.

"Have you come to help me?" he called. "Excellent. I could do with a little support. When I first came here, the horses were beside themselves with fear. They didn't see the fire, of course, but they smelled the smoke and heard all the unfamiliar voices. I put halters on all of them, in case they broke through the door and ran away. Fortunately the wind turned before something serious could happen, and they grew calmer because the smells and sounds grew fainter. I thought I'd take Etoile for a walk, since she's the most nervous one, but as you could see, she didn't like the idea too much."

"We heard you screaming," I told him.

"Oh, that must have been when Etoile stepped onto my foot," he explained casually. "She's still a little nervous, but it has already become much better, hasn't it, girl?"

Personally, I couldn't see that much of a change, but I didn't say so. I merely made sure that I stayed well out of reach of the mare's hooves. She was no longer standing still, but had started prancing restlessly, looking over at us with her big, round eyes.

"It was dangerous to go into the stable on your own," I said seriously. "You could have been trampled by the horses."

"But no!" Gabriel gave back, looking at me as if my worries were completely unfounded. "The horses trust me. They'd never attack me. Etoile only stepped onto my foot because we couldn't agree on who should leave her box first. She didn't do it on purpose. The only ones who were in danger of being hurt were the horses. If there had been a panic, they could have hurt themselves. That's why I had to go in there. I had to save them. At least I was not too late this time…"

He turned his head away from us and continued talking to the horse in a low voice. I knew instantly that he was thinking of Jacqueline. Again, I remained silent. This wasn't the right time for comments such as ´You did all you could´ or ´If it hadn't been for you, she wouldn't be alive at all´. Gabriel knew all that, and still he felt guilty. The feeling wasn't unfamiliar to me either.

For a while, we all stood there in silence. With Gabriel's soft voice filling her ears, Etoile grew calmer again. I even dared step forwards and pat her neck. Her ears turned into my direction, and she snorted uneasily.

"We all smell of smoke," Gabriel explained. "On another day, she might have recognised your smell, but now the smoke covers everything. She hardly recognised me at first. Well, they'll all have to get used to the smoke sooner or later, for their stable will smell like it for a long time."

"Would it be better for the horses if they left their stable for a while?" I asked. "Mme. de Gableaux, the neighbour we're staying with at the moment, told me that we can bring the horses into her stable."

"Very good," he said, smiling. "The smell will be much better in a few days' time, especially if we change the straw in the boxes and wash all the horse blankets. Let us take the other horses out then. Will you all help me?"

"That is what we came here for," I said. "Pierre told us he has a lot of experience with horses, and M.Tavoire should get by as well."

Gabriel nodded, thinking.

"All right," he muttered. "This is how we'll do it: I'll go first, with Etoile. You can take Charles, M. le Comte, M.Tavoire can take Fantienne, and since Pierre says he knows how to deal with horses, he can take Esmeralde and Hugo."

He walked a few steps away from the door, so that we could go inside. I waved at Jean and Pierre to come closer, making the mare look at me in shock and earning a disapproving glance from Gabriel, and told them what he had said.

Five minutes later, we were on our way. I was walking behind Gabriel. Next to me was Charles, a sturdy black gelding who was very good-natured. No matter how often Etoile threw her head into the air, he remained perfectly calm. This composure was the reason why I chose him whenever I felt like going for a ride.

We reached the stable quickly, and I saw that Mme. de Gableaux hadn't promised too much when she had said that there would be enough space for our horses. The stablemaster, who waited for us at the door, seemed to have worked wonders. I thanked him and gave him the rope tied to Charles' halter. Jean and Pierre handed their ropes to his assistants, and we turned to leave. Only Gabriel stayed with his Etoile.

"By the way, we'll all leave for the Tavoire estate shortly," I informed him, walking over the mare's box. "We'll stay there till we'll have found a new house or can move back into the old one. Do you want to come with us?"

"If there's a bed for me, I'd rather stay here, if you don't mind, Monsieur," he replied. "I belong to the horses, and you don't need me anyway, with the coach being broken. Besides… it's closer to the hospital. I'd like to see Jacqueline as soon as possible." He stroked Etoile's mane gently.

I smiled at him.

"I understand," I said softly.

**Author's note:** Just in case you were wondering: I do not recommend walking into a stable full of nervous horses. It's not a good idea, no matter how well you know them. Even if they don't want to hurt you, they could end up doing so, simply because they don't realise what they're doing. Talking to them in a low voice can help, but stay away from the boxes till you're sure that they've calmed down.


	172. Chapter One Hundred and SeventyTwo

**Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Two**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Christine_

The journey to Meg's home was long and slow. We couldn't drive very fast, for it was dark and the horses didn't know the surroundings. Even the coachman only had a vague idea of where we were going. Jean had rented the coach in front of the opera, since he had rightly assumed we wouldn't all fit into his coach. Fortunately his coachman knew the way, so that our coachman only had to follow him. Still Jean was travelling in our coach, in case we lost the others in the dark.

We had left almost immediately after Raoul, Pierre and Jean had returned from the stable. Ginevra had insisted that we ate the dinner her cook had prepared for us, yet even though my mind had told me that I had to be hungry, I had only been able to force down a few bites. On a day like this, when the world seemed to have stopped turning, doing things as normal as eating just didn't feel right. Raoul seemed to have had similar thoughts, for he had only pushed his food around on his plate. At least the children had eaten something.

After dinner, nothing had been able to hold us back anymore. I couldn't help feeling that Ginevra hadn't wanted to let us go. For a short while, her house had been filled with noise and liveliness. Now she'd be all alone again, till her husband would return in a few days' time. I felt sorry for her, but I couldn't help it either. At least it was much livelier in her stable now, with all the additional horses. Besides, we had promised to visit her soon.

Our coach was rather more crowded than it was comfortable for us. It had clearly not been intended to accommodate more than two or three passengers, but there were five of us. Neither Antoinette nor Philippe had been willing to leave our side, which was something I could understand perfectly well. They were sitting on the bench in front of us, together with Jean, who had insisted on staying with us, in case something else happened and we needed help.

This had left Raoul and me to squeeze onto the tiny second bench, the normal use of which it probably was to have luggage such as handbags and coats thrown onto it. Every now and then, it would protest against the weight by giving a groan. I tried to make myself as light as possible, since I had no intention to land on the floor of the coach if the bench gave way. I almost wished I could have taken the other coach, together with Larissse, Marielle and Pierre, yet since the children and everyone else would have doubtlessly followed me, it would have only shifted the problem.

"Are you comfortable?" Raoul asked me in a low voice.

"Oh yes," I replied sarcastically. "I couldn't imagine a more elegant way of travelling." I was surprised about my own statement. Sarcasm wasn't something I used too often.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "Should I have asked Jean to hire another coach?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you," I mumbled, and there was silence between us again.

For a few moments, I made an attempt to listen to the conversation coming from the front bench, but I gave up quickly. The wheels were rattling too loudly for me to hear much, let alone be able to join in. It was a rather old coach, and the noise it made was much louder than our own coach's. I had the feeling that I could have sung an aria without Jean or the children catching as much as one word. Not that I felt like singing at the moment. My head was beginning to throb unpleasantly.

Stealthily, an arm tried to sneak around my shoulders. I have the hand a sharp little slap.

"Don't do that!" I hissed. "I'm not in the right mood."

"What? Not in the right mood to have your husband's arm around your shoulders?" Raoul gave back. "Well, I'm sorry. The next time I'll wait for a written permission." He snorted derisively. Since when did sarcasm belong to _his_ standard repertoire?

Once more, we were silent. I threw Raoul a sideways glance and saw that his lips were pressed together into a thin line. I knew it would have been my turn to say something friendly, but I didn't feel like doing it. So often when he had been away from home, I had wished that I'd be able to talk to him, and now that he was sitting next to me, I'd have rather been somewhere else.

"You didn't even thank me for saving your life," Raoul stated after a few very tense minutes. "If I hadn't come back – "

"We'd have got by without you," I snapped, annoyed by the whining sound of his voice. "Just like we got by without you before! We got rid of the beggars at the gate alone, I was returned home without you doing anything, and we'd have also got out of this situation alone!" His complacency was making me sick. He was like an actor who walked onto the stage for the last scene and expected all the applause for himself. Did Raoul have any idea how much we had suffered while he had been enjoying his business trip? "Erik would have – " The moment the name left my mouth and I heard the sharp intake of breath, I knew I had made a mistake.

"Aha!" Raoul exclaimed triumphantly, like a man who had solved a complicated riddle. "Now we're finally getting to the core of the problem: the Phantom! Yes, he'd have made everything so much better on his own! He'd have fought all those criminals with one hand while composing an opera about the fight with the other. He'd have brought you to your new place to stay with a much more noble coach, drawn by four white stallions. And I'm sure he'd have been allowed to put his arm around you… and much more than that! Tell me, Christine: Did you lie with him?"

I had expected that question to come up sooner or later, though perhaps not in this conversation, and I had thought about what to reply. I had considered different approaches, from tactful to sensitive. But now I didn't want to be tactful or sensitive. On the contrary: I _wanted_ to hurt Raoul. Who did this man think he was, talking about Erik like that? He was my husband, yes, but he didn't own me!

"Yes, I did," I cried. "More than once! And it was good!"

I watched the colour drain from his face with a strange sense of satisfaction. I had hurt him just where I had planned to: right in his male pride. For a moment he gaped at me. Then he swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure.

"I'm sure it was good," he said in a flat voice. "After all, you had plenty of time to practice. For how long has this been going on? Has it only started when he began to teach Philippe, or was it much longer? Have you been meeting in secret for all those years?"

I gave a short laugh.

"Don't be ridiculous, Raoul," I hissed. "I've told you that I hadn't seen him for ten years before that whole thing with Philippe happened." I didn't know what possessed me to go on the way I did, but I couldn't hold myself back. A man who spoke such accusations didn't deserve better. "But you wouldn't believe how much Erik learned in those few days," I said sweetly. "He can do things with his hands other men can only dream of. No one has ever made me feel this wonderful before…" I sighed dreamily, watching Raoul closely out of the corners of my eyes. He made a face as if someone had kicked him in the groin… which was exactly what I had done, albeit symbolically.

"Good for you," he brought out, sounding as if his own words were choking him. "And it's nice to know that I'm at least good enough to help you with the police and sit next to you till your beloved Phantom arrives."

Now I was the one who didn't know what to say. I merely turned away from him, pretending to look at the dark landscape outside. The rattling of the coach grew fainter as the streets became better. I was glad that our argument was over, for surely the children would have heard us talk. Well, there was no danger of that happening now. Raoul and I didn't exchange a word until we arrived at Meg's home.

Since no doors belonged to the bench we had been sitting on, we had to climb over the front bench in order to get out. As if we hadn't done enough climbing already today… Jean helped the children, then Raoul went to the front to help me. He grabbed my right hand rather harder than necessary… and froze, staring down at it.

"Christine" he muttered tersely. "These two rings… they're not from our wedding. But I've seen one of them before. They… they belong to _him_, don't they?"

I nodded.

"Oh," he made and strode away without another word.


	173. Chapter One Hundred and SeventyThree

**Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Three**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Jean_

Something had happened on the journey, that much was certain. One just had to look at Christine and Raoul to know that. Christine was standing next to the coach with her children and me, talking in a loud, hectic voice, while Raoul was standing as far away from her as possible. The cook, Larisse, tried to engage him in a conversation, but he barely seemed to notice it, for he was too busy throwing his wife accusing glances.

Yes, something had definitely happened. I had already known so on the way here. It had been difficult to hear anything over the rattling of the coach and Antoinette's constant chatting, but I had been able to understand that the two people on the bench behind us had had an argument. The moment I had gained that piece of information, I had started talking more loudly myself, since I hadn't wanted the children to notice that their parents were arguing.

Actually it was not surprising that arguments were started easily on a day like this, when emotions were running high. One wrong word at the wrong time could be enough. I knew it from experience. My darling Meg and I didn't argue too often, but the days when it did happen were always days on which something else had already gone wrong or was about to go wrong: An urgent contract hadn't been signed yet, or we were approaching the first night of a new production. Yet such arguments weren't serious. They were short and had a cleansing effect, like a thunderstorm on a summer afternoon. And the apologies afterwards were always especially loving.

In the case of Christine and Raoul, however, it didn't seem to be like that. They didn't look as if they wanted to apologise anytime soon, and there was nothing loving in the glances they kept throwing each other. Raoul appeared hurt and Christine defiant. If I had known what they had been arguing about, I would have tried to help them. Yet since I had no idea and asking them would have been very rude, there was nothing I could do, except keeping them away from each other.

The topic of the argument, whatever it was, was still standing between them, like a spark that could become a fire any moment, if someone threw a tiny bit of wood onto it to kindle it. The last thing I wanted was for their argument to start again, this time with everyone listening. So when Mme.Fallatoire, my housekeeper, appeared at the door, I asked her to take Raoul up to one of the guest rooms, so that he could put his suitcases there. We had received them from a completely confused coachman shortly before we had left.

"Choose whichever room you want and take your time to freshen yourself up," I advised him. "And if you need anything – clothes, a razor, soap – just take it from me. Mme.Fallatoire will show you where everything is."

The housekeeper nodded and led Raoul away. He didn't look too sorry about leaving his wife. If everything worked the way I wanted it to, he'd return calm and relaxed, and when he'd meet Christine, who'd be equally calm and relaxed, they'd forget what they had been arguing about.

"Christine," I addressed her next. "Annie will show you the other guestrooms and also the bathroom for you and the little ones. Perhaps they would like to take a bath. I'll tell the cook to heat water and bring it to you. And as for clothes… I'm sure Meg wouldn't mind you having a look at the clothes in her wardrobe and taking whatever you need. It's more difficult for the children, of course, but maybe you can think of something."

Christine nodded.

"Thank you, Jean," she said. "I'm certain I'll find something for them, too."

Then the children and she disappeared as well, led by Annie, a young maid. Now only Larisse and the two others remained outside with me.

"Perhaps I should have gone with her," the young woman called Marielle mused aloud. "After all, I said I wanted to replace Jacqueline, so I should start supporting Madame immediately."

"You'll still have plenty of time to support her later," I told her gently. "But at the moment, you have to take care of yourself first. You'll have to wash yourself and put on clean clothes before you can think of doing anything resembling work. I'm sure we'll find some clothes for you as well. I'll show you the way to the empty rooms for the servants. I've been told that there are always some spare clothes in the wardrobe."

The reason why I had chosen to lead this group instead of Raoul or Christine was simple: It was the most peaceful one. It was possible that one of my friends would have seized the chance to tell me about their version of the argument, and I didn't want to be forced to choose sides.

In general, I was not a man who couldn't make up his mind about what to think, even if the topic was a little delicate. But this was different. I knew and liked both Christine and Raoul, and choosing one over the other would have felt like betrayal. That was why I thought it best if not only they stayed out of each other's way, but I stayed away from them as well. It was safer.

If only Meg would be here soon! She always knew how to talk to people, and so did her mother. If they had a conversation with Christine, I could maybe try to find out about Raoul's side of the problem in the meantime. None of them would feel left out of they both had someone to talk to, and perhaps we'd be able to solve the problem together. It was ridiculous that they had had an argument, just when things were starting to improve again.

"M.Tavoire?"

I looked up, putting an end to my pondering.

"Are we there?" Pierre went on.

It was only then that I realised I had just gone on walking, completely lost in thought, till the corridor had ended. We were facing a door now. I cold only hope it was the right one. I didn't enter the servants' part of the building too often because I didn't want them to think that I didn't trust them to get along on their own.

"Yes, this is it," I replied confidently, pulling open the door. The next moment, I heard a gurgling sound behind me, doubtlessly caused by suppressed laughter. I could hardly keep myself from giggling as well. The room I had led them to was not a bedroom as I had expected. It was a broom cupboard.

"Well, thank you, M.Tavoire," Larisse muttered, apparently trying to sound grateful rather than appalled. "It is a little small, but… it'll do."

"No," I said quickly, shocked that she seriously assumed I wanted them to sleep in a broom cupboard. What kind of person did she think me to be? "This is not the right room. I – "

"Jean Tavoire," a voice behind me called. "Don't you think it's a little early to show these poor tired people their future working equipment? Shouldn't they have a rest first?"

Turning around, I saw Meg standing there, an amused smile dancing across her pretty lips, which were still ruby-red. It was clear that she had wanted to come here as quickly as possible, which was why she hadn't removed her make-up. As I walked over to her and took her into my arms, I heard the rustling of her costume under her long coat.

"Good evening, my darling," I greeted her softly. "It's so good to see you here at last."

"Why?" she asked. "Were things so complicated without me? Where are Christine and the others? Have you sent them into the washhouse or the cellars? Are they supposed to work for us as well?" She gave me the teasing smile I loved so much about her.

"Oh no, they're not in the cellars," I gave back in a deadly serious voice. "Christine and Raoul are in the forest, chopping wood, and the children are fetching water from the well." I winked at her.

"Oh, of course," Meg said, winking at me. "Now, where are they?"

"I sent them upstairs to the guest rooms," I replied. "Christine could also be in the bathroom. I told her that she could let the children take a bath."

Meg nodded.

"Which bedroom did you give to Christine and Raoul?" she wanted to know. "The big one we always give to your brother and his wife when they come to visit us?"

"I thought it wiser to have them choose their own rooms," I answered, my voice dropping to a whisper. "You see, Christine and Raoul had an argument on the way here, and they still seemed angry at each other when we arrived here. I have no idea what it was all about, but maybe you could find it out."

"I will," she promised. "I'll go and talk to Christine now anyway."

She was about to leave when I held her back.

"There's one thing you could do for me first," I said. "Could you help me find the empty servants' bedrooms? Otherwise these poor people will indeed have to sleep in the broom cupboard."


	174. Chapter One Hundred and SeventyFour

**Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Four**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Christine_

I had accepted Jean's offer to let the children take a bath without hesitation. I knew very well how relaxing a bath could be, and right now, they needed all the relaxation they could get. They were both very excited, to the point where they couldn't stand still for as long as a moment.

There was quite a bit of nervousness in Phlippe's excitement, though. It had become better after Raoul had told him the bad men couldn't come back, but his gaze still darted to the door of the bathroom every so often, and every unfamiliar sound made him jump. Antoinette, on the other hand, fought her nervousness in the one way she knew: by talking even more than usual. The bathroom was filled with her chatting. All in all, a bath would do both children good. All we needed now was the promised hot water.

My daughter only stopped talking when there was a knock at the door. Predictably, Philippe jumped and threw me an anxious glance. I opened the door and saw two servants standing outside, carrying buckets filled with water. They emptied them into the bathtub and left again, only to return shorty afterwards with more water. After about a quarter of an hour, the bathtub was full, and the servants left for good, after I had made it clear that I didn't need anything more and was quite capable of letting my children take a bath without someone's help.

Antoinette could undress on her own and started doing so immediately, but Philippe needed my help. I took off piece after dirty piece of clothing, inhaling sharply when I saw what I revealed. My son's little body was bruised in more than one place, his knees were grazed, and there were scratches on his hands and arms, probably from pieces of glass.

My daughter didn't look any better. She also had bruises on his upper arms, at the spots where the henchman of Marielle's father had held onto her. I gazed at my dirty, injured and tired children and could hardly keep myself from bursting into tears. Children were not supposed to look like this, and children were not supposed to be nervous and anxious. Wordlessly, I wrapped my arms around both of them and held them close for a long time.

It was only when I recalled that the water was growing cold that I let go of them and helped them into the bathtub. It would have been big enough for two adults to use at the same time, and the size was more than enough for the two children. For a while, they simply sat there, taking deep breaths, their eyes closed. I could practically see their sore muscles relax. A smile appeared on their faces.

I was smiling as well. It was true that my body was still aching, and I felt dizzy and exhausted, but it was not as bad as it had been. It was impossible for me to see my children happy without being happy myself. The prospect of perhaps taking a bath myself a little later made me feel even better.

Antoinette opened her eyes first. I handed her a bar of rose-scented soap, and she started lathering herself. When she was finished with her arms, there was another knock at the door. Philippe's eyes snapped open, and he faced the door, looking scared.

"We don't need anything," I called sharply, annoyed that someone had disturbed my son, just when he had looked so peaceful.

"But, it's me, Meg," a familiar voice outside said. "My mother is here as well. Don't you want to see us?"

"Of course I do," I hastened to give back, feeling mildly embarrassed. "Come in."

The door swung open, and Meg and Mme.Giry stepped inside. Mme.Giry was pale and looked older than usual, whereas Meg's face was unnaturally pink. I realised that she hadn't removed her stage make-up yet.

"How are you, Christine?" Mme.Giry asked, her face full of concern.

"I don't know," I said, involuntarily giving the same reply I had given Jean. "At the moment, I'm fine. I'm trying not to think about what happened or what could have happened. The last time I did so, I passed out." I gave them a lopsided smile, which they did not return. I had hardly ever seen Meg that serious.

"Is there anything we can do for you?" she wanted to know.

"Yes, there is," I answered without thinking. "Please don't ask me to tell you the whole story again. I feel as if I had already told it a hundred times today."

"You're lucky then," my friend muttered. "Jean has told me everything he knew, and I told Maman. So we won't bother you with questions."

"Thank you," I mumbled gratefully.

"You can bother me with questions," Antoinette called cheerfully from behind me.

Mme.Giry and Meg exchanged a glance of deep understanding.

"Why don't I stay here with the children for a while?" Mme.Giry then suggested. "You can go with Meg and see whether you can find clothes for the three of you."

I nodded. It sounded like a good idea. I knew I didn't have to be worried when the children were with Mme.Giry. She knew both of them since birth and would take good care of them.

The children didn't seem to mind either. They were beaming at Mme.Giry. Antoinette started talking right away. They surely wouldn't miss me.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," I told them. Then Meg and I left the room.

After the warmth of the bathroom, the corridor seemed very cold. I shivered slightly.

"We'll find something nice and warm to wear for you," Meg assured me. Then her face split into a wide smile. "Did you hear that?" she asked. "Something nice and warm! I'm slowly transforming into my mother."

I couldn't help giggling a little as well. It was true that it hadn't sounded like Meg at all.

"It's good to hear you laugh," she remarked softly. "I know you didn't often have the reason to do so in the last hours, but it'll all change, now that you're with us." I willed myself to believe her. It sounded so good.

Meg led me to a small room. When she lit a lamp, I saw that it only contained a large mirror, an even larger wardrobe and a dressing table.

"This is my new dressing room," she explained. "Jean had it redecorated for me only a few weeks ago. That's why you haven't seen it yet. It was a present for our wedding day. You know that he always complained about me rummaging in the old wardrobe in our bedroom while he still wanted to sleep. So I'm using this room now, where I can be as noisy and take as much time as I please."

I smiled. It was indeed a nice room. I'd have liked to have one myself. It had to be wonderful to have an extra room for one's clothes. Perhaps I could persuade Raoul to – Then it came to me. I didn't have a home anymore, and I didn't have any clothes except for those I was wearing at the moment.

Tears started trickling down my face, and I was unable to hold them back. I had lost everything, so I at least had the right to cry about it, hadn't I? Meg made a sympathetic sound.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Christine," she muttered miserably. "I didn't mean to make you upset. I'm so insensitive…"

"No, no, it's all right," I assured her, giving her a tiny smile. "It was not your fault. The pictures come up all the time anyway… Shall we look for clothes now?"

Meg didn't look as if she believed my recovery completely, but she nodded and opened the doors of the wardrobe, while I wiped my eyes with my fingers.

"You can take whatever you like," she offered kindly.

"Can we try to find something for the children first?" I asked. I was a little worried that seeing Meg's clothes in all their splendour would make me burst into tears again.

"Of course," she said readily. Pulling open drawers, she went on: "I've already thought about it. Your little ones wouldn't fit into any of my normal clothes, but I've kept some of my old ones… this one, for instance.".

She took out what looked like a pale pink piece of cloth and unfolded it. It turned out to be a short summer dress.

"Oh, it'll be perfect for Antoinette," I told her. "It's just the right size, and she'll love wearing a dress that comes from you. But what will we do with Philippe?"

"That's more difficult," she acknowledged. "Could he perhaps wear one of Jean's shirts as a nightshirt? And in the morning, you'll go out and buy a few things anyway, won't you?"

I shrugged.

"Raoul and I haven't had time to talk about it yet," I replied quickly, trying hard not to blush. I didn't want her to see that something was wrong.

"Because you were too busy arguing?" Meg asked. Seeing the incredulous expression on my face, she explained: "Jean told me that he overheard you having an argument on the coach, but he didn't understand any details. He doesn't know what it was about, and – ".

"Well, poor Jean," I snapped. "How unfortunate for him that he didn't understand every little detail and couldn't tell you about it! But I have to disappoint you. I won't satisfy your curiosity either!"

I snatched the dress out of her hand and hurried away.


	175. Chapter One Hundred and SeventyFive

**Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Five**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Christine_

It was difficult to find a place to hide in a house that didn't belong to me. Of course I had been here every now and then to visit Meg, but unless she had wanted to show me something, we had always stayed in the sitting room or the garden. Moreover, Jean was well-known for his love of redecoration. According to Meg, it was normal for her to come home in the evening, walk into a room and find it completely changed.

But then, it was not as if I had a preference as to where to go, as long as no one else was there, least of all my best friend. Friend! Could I even call her that anymore? What was the right term to describe a person who couldn't leave me in peace for as long as a minute? I had been so successful in suppressing the memory of the argument with Raoul, and she had dragged it to the surface again.

Why couldn't she understand that I didn't want to talk about it, just like she understood that I didn't want to talk about what had happened today? It was bad enough that Jean had overheard us and told his wife about it, but why couldn't she have kept the knowledge to herself instead of forcing a conversation on me on the first possible occasion? There were things that became better if one talked about them, yet this one did not belong to that category. It would only become worse.

I could practically see Meg's face in front of me, her eyes wide as she whispered: ´You told Raoul that you lay with Erik? But why did you do that? He might have never found out…´. She wouldn't understand that sometimes things had to be said in order to hurt another person. I was certain that Jean and she had never had an argument like that. They seemed to live in perfect harmony.

But then, so did Raoul and I, at least according to most people we knew. Only about a week ago, an elderly neighbour had told me that she had rarely seen such a lovely couple. If she had heard us argue, she would have changed her mind quickly. When had we become so… spiteful towards each other?

I wasn't completely blinded by self-righteousness. I knew that Raoul had only reacted to what I had said. It had been I who had started being cold and unfriendly, not he. And that was exactly my problem: Sometimes I didn't understand myself. I didn't understand why I couldn't be nice to Raoul, who was always so loving and gentle. And why, _why_ had I told him about Erik and me and even hinted that Erik had been better than him? Yes, I had wanted to hurt him, but why had I wanted it?

Perhaps I was growing insane. Pushing away my husband and my best friend – this couldn't be called normal behaviour. Maybe I could blame the pressure of the last days. Living in constant fear of attacks wasn't normal either. Yet this would mean that everything would become better now, as we had all told each other so often, and I couldn't feel any change yet. The first waves of fury had subsided, but I still didn't feel the wish to go to Raoul and apologise. First he'd have to apologise for having said all those horrid things about Erik.

I turned around as I reached the end of a corridor and simply marched back into the direction I had come from. For the moment, the corridor was a good enough place for me to be, as long as I avoided the doors leading to the bathroom and Meg's dressing room. No one else seemed to walk around here, so that my thoughts and I were alone. Since I had not been alone for quite a while, it was rather comforting. Seeing other people only meant more questions, and I didn't feel like answering them at the moment.

Of course, the person I wanted to meet least of all was Raoul. I was still angry at him. I might have made a mistake by telling him about Erik and me, but he had made mistakes as well. He hadn't even asked why I had been with Erik. If he had done so, I could have told him about the secret wedding, and he'd have understood. I shook my head wearily. No, he wouldn't have understood it, not even if I had explained it a thousand times. And he didn't have to understand it, did he? He just had to accept it.

Yet I knew that expecting him to accept it was asked a lot. It must have been hard enough for him to leave Paris with the suspicion that something might happen between Erik and me. Finding out that something had indeed happened was even worse. No matter how hard I fought against it, I couldn't help starting to see the situation from Raoul's point of view. Perhaps I hadn't lost my empathy after all.

Raoul had been forced to go away when his family had needed him most, and he had been forced to leave us with Erik at our side, whom he didn't trust. Well, he did trust him to look after us, but not to leave me alone. And now he had come back, and his worst fears had turned out to be correct: Erik and I had made love. I was wearing his ring instead of the one I had been wearing for more than ten years.

I stopped walking abruptly because my legs were tired and I was feeling dizzy. As I leaned against the wall, catching my breath, my gaze was drawn to my right hand. Yes, there they were, the two rings. Before Raoul had mentioned them, I hadn't even thought about the fact that I was still wearing them. Other things, such as surviving, had been more important. It seemed that no one else had noticed it either. So why had he seen it? Couldn't it have been someone else? Then I could have taken off one ring and pretend the other one was the one Raoul had given me.

Vaguely I wondered where the real ring had gone. I had taken it off when Erik had slipped the other one onto my finger, but I couldn't recall where I had put it. It felt as if all that had happened years ago, not just days. Yet it didn't matter anyway. Wherever I had put the ring, it was very likely that it had been destroyed in the fire. Raoul would have to buy me a new one. If he still wanted to, that was…

I had reached a point in my thoughts from which I couldn't go on. Seeing things from Raoul's point of view was all very well, but I had to stop now. Continuing would have required me reading his mind and guessing his thoughts to predict his actions, and naturally I couldn't do that. If I had noticed one thing during the argument, it was that Raoul was almost a stranger to me. There had been a time in our relationship when I had been able to understand him almost as well as I understood myself, but that time was over. Perhaps it would never be like that again.

My head was throbbing worse than ever, demanding a rest after all those thoughts. I needed a place to sit or even lie down, at least for a few minutes. Then I'd go back into the bathroom, bring Antoinette her dress and pretend to be all right. Maybe Meg would be there as well, but she wouldn't dare address the topic of the argument with the children around. I'd be safe.

Since most of the rooms on the first floor were bedrooms, it didn't matter which one I'd take. I tried the door next to me. It was locked. Well, perhaps it did matter a little which one I'd take. It should be one with an unlocked door. Looking down the corridor, I spotted a door that stood slightly ajar. Surely it would be the easiest choice to take that one.

I approached it quietly. It had just occurred to me that there could be a maid inside, cleaning, and I didn't want to startle her. Yet the agitated voices I heard clearly didn't belong to a maid. I knew both of them only too well.

"I can't believe she did this to me!" Raoul was saying. "And then she told me about it, just like that, as if she hadn't done anything worse than buying a new dress without asking me first!"

"But are you sure that she meant it?" Jean wanted to know cautiously. "Perhaps she only said it to… infuriate you."

"Believe me, she meant every word of it," my husband spat. I was slightly shocked to hear him that angry. I had been sure that he'd have calmed down by now. He always calmed down quickly… didn't he? "She lay with the Phantom, and she enjoyed it… more than with me…" His voice trailed off bitterly.

"Does the Phantom even do such things?" Jean mused aloud. "I always thought he was more a person who acted on a… mental level, not on a physical one."

"Oh, he can be very physical," Raoul assured him. I didn't have to see him to know that he was tracing the line of the Punjab Lasso on his throat, like he did it so often when he was under pressure. "Very physical indeed. But then, you wouldn't mind, would you?"

"Pardon?" Jean muttered. "I don't understand…"

"You wouldn't mind him sleeping with Meg, as long as you'd be able to watch them," Raoul explained, his voice sounding shrill. "After all, you're one of his biggest admirers. Why don't you ask him when he comes here? I'm sure he'd turn it into a lovely performance for you."

"Enough of that!" Jean said sharply. He dropped his voice to an urgent whisper, so that I couldn't understand him anymore. But I had heard enough anyway. Now people were not only arguing with me, but also because of me. It was getting worse instead of better. Quickly I walked away, before anyone could notice me.


	176. Chapter One Hundred and SeventySix

**Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Six**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Raoul_

"Enough of that!" Jean said. Then his voice dropped to a whisper. "What I don't understand is why she's trying to hurt you like that," he went on urgently, throwing me a questioning glance. "What did you do to her?"

I shrugged.

"If only I knew it, Jean," I muttered, feeling more miserable than ever. "I don't have any idea of what I could have done to deserve this. Well, I haven't been home very often, but I don't think that can be the reason. It has always been like that, and it never affected Christine in such a negative way before. She was so hostile…"

"Perhaps she just didn't tell you that she wanted you home more often because she was afraid of your reaction," Jean mused.

"My reaction?" I repeated. "But I would have never yelled at her or something like that if she had uttered such a request. I would have understood her. And anyway, that problem no longer exists. I've talked to my business partner, and he agreed to take over more responsibilities. I've also told Christine about it. She knows that from now on, I'll be home much more often. Once we'll have a home again, that is…"

I looked down at the shirt I was holding in my hands. When I had put it on in the morning, it had been perfectly white. Now it was dirty grey, and there were grass and blood stains all over it. The only good thing that could be said about it was that it had kept my undershirt, which I was still wearing, from getting too dirty.

I had just taken off the shirt to examine the damage done, when Jean had come in, pretending to try and help me look for clothes, but truly wanting to talk to me. And once we had started talking, I had forgotten all about the shirt. That was why we were still standing there, Jean a few steps away from the door, which he still hand't closed, and I at the washbasin.

Jean let a few moments pass in silence, then he asked:

"Still… couldn't it be possible that Christine is angry at you because of all those business trips, even though she knows that they won't happen anymore? Perhaps she even assumed that she had the right to… erm, do what she did with the Phantom because she suspects that you… well, did similar things when you were away from home…". He looked down quickly, his cheeks flushed.

I felt as stunned as someone who had just been hit by a bolt of lightning.

"W-what?" I croaked. "But… but I never… I'd have never done that… never even considered it… Do you really think Christine could have such ideas?"

"Well, I don't know," Jean admitted, still speaking to his shoes rather than to me. It was strangely good to see that the conversation was making him just as uncomfortable as I felt myself. "But it is possible. If I came to that conclusion, she could have done the same."

"But it's absurd!" I called, the ability to talk without stammering returning to me slowly. "I would have never betrayed Christine, and she knows it. I love her far too much to do that."

"Perhaps she think you just gave in to temptation," Jean reasoned. "A man in your position and with your appearance does face certain temptation every now and then, doesn't he? I know that I do."

Briefly my thoughts wandered to Narelle, the young woman who had led us to our seats at the opera a few days ago. She had obviously been interested in me, but I'd have never done as much as give her a kiss, even if no one else had been around. It just wouldn't have been right. I could imagine that Jean had found himself in similar situations, though. Money held a very special appeal for some women.

It took me another moment to realise what his last remark could have implied.

"Have you ever… you know, given in to temptation?" I asked in a low voice.

"Of course not," Jean answered instantly, looking up at me in shock. "I'd rather rip out my own heart and eat it for dinner than betray my Meg, and she wouldn't do so either. Not even if the Phantom was involved," he added, an amused smile appearing on his face.

I knew at once what he was referring to.

"I'm sorry about what I said before," I murmured. "I know that Meg or you would never do such a thing."

"It's all right," Jean assured me gently. "You were just angry… Don't you see?" he asked suddenly, looking excited. "You said something, even though you didn't mean it, just to hurt me. Do you still think Christine couldn't have done the same?"

"That's different," I argued. "Meg and the Phantom – or you and the Phantom, for that matter – are an absurd combination.But Christine and he… they're a perfect match. According to the Phantom himself, of course. I'm sure that he has never stopped loving her, not even in all those years when he didn't see her. And now that he had the chance to… do something with her, he must have seized it at once."

"All right, so we've established that the Phantom wanted something to happen between them," Jean acknowledged, settling down on the bed. He patted the bedspread next to him to indicate I should sit down as well, but I was too agitated to do so. I preferred standing, leaning against the wall next to the washbasin. "But that doesn't mean Christine wanted the same," he went on. "She's your wife, Raoul, and she never appeared to be the kind of woman to forget it that easily."

I gave a bitter laugh, which almost came out as a sob.

"Well, it can't have been that difficult for her," I said. "When you see her the next time, have a good look at her right hand. She's no longer wearing the ring I gave her for our wedding, but two of his! She probably couldn't make up her mind which one she liked better, so he gave her both. If that's not a clear sign of who she feels she belongs to, I don't know what is."

"Oh…" Jean made. He had clearly not expected such strong evidence that my theory was correct, but I felt no satisfaction about having taken him by surprise. As long as he had still come up with some kind of explanation, I had been able to delude myself that maybe he was right after all. But that was over now.

"You see?" I muttered. "There's no point in arguing. Christine didn't lie to me. She told the truth. I only wonder why she did so, when I had forbidden her to do so…"

Jean looked at me, puzzled.

"What do you mean?" he wanted to know. "Did you forbid her to tell the truth or to tell her about the Phantom and herself? How could you have forbidden her to tell you something you didn't know yourself? It doesn't make any sense…"

"Oh, it does make sense," I contradicted him with a lopsided smile that made my face hurt. "You see, when I left, I already suspected that something might happen. Christine and I talked about it, and I told her that if she… gave in to the Phantom, I didn't want to know about it."

"You talked about it?" Jean repeated faintly, shaking his head in disbelief. "Then why didn't you forbid her to betray you?"

I walked over to the bed at last and sank down onto it. I didn't feel agitated anymore, just sad and very tired.

"Things aren't always as simple as they seem," I said. "Yes, now it's easy to suggest that I should have done this or that differently. But at that time…" I sighed deeply. "I was almost certain that something would happen between them, and still I had to leave Paris. I didn't have another choice. The only thing I could do was ask Christine to spare me the details… and she didn't even have the decency to do that."

Jean didn't reply, but patted my shoulder in silence. It was a comforting feeling amidst all the misery and deception I had just poured out. It might sound strange after all the secrets I had just told him, but I had never considered Jean my friend. He had always been the husband of my wife's best friend, not more and not less. We had often had long discussions about business or life in general while our wives had been chatting as well, but we had rarely talked about something more private than to which restaurant we took our wives for our wedding day.

Yet as we sat there, staring into space, I realised that Jean was indeed my friend. I could rely on him not to tell anyone what we had talked about. Friends knew when to remain silent. It was a pity that the same didn't seem to go for wives.

I got up from the bed after what felt like a small eternity, noticing that my arms were covered in gooseflesh because I had only been wearing an undershirt all the time.

"I'll go and fetch you something new to wear," Jean announced, standing up as well. Walking to the door, he muttered: "A shirt, trousers, socks… Oh…". He turned around to face me again. "What do you want me to do if I meet Christine? Shall I tell you that you're in this room?"

"No," I replied, making up my mind quickly. "I think it's best if we don't see each other for a while."


	177. Chapter One Hundred and SeventySeven

**Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Seven**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Christine_

After I had walked through every corridor on the first floor twice and sat in a corner for a few minutes to calm down, I was ready to go back to the bathroom. Well, maybe I wasn't completely ready, but at least I no longer felt as if I'd burst into tears any moment. I had suppressed everything I had heard of the conversation between Raoul and Jean. The memory was now at the back of my mind, right next to the ones of the argument with Raoul and the fire. I thought wryly that if I'd have to suppress anything more today, my head would probably explode.

Since I had enough of listening at doors and overhearing conversations, I knocked loudly instead of simply walking in. If anyone was just discussing me, they'd still have time to stop.

"It's me," I called, just as loudly. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," a female voice answered. It wasn't Mme.Giry, but Meg. Apparently she had found her way back faster than I had. I could count myself lucky that I hadn't met her in the corridor.

As I opened the door, I saw the two women next to the bathtub, each of them washing a child. Since she had some difficulties with her back, Mme.Giry was sitting on a low stool, helping her godchild. Meg was busy with Philippe, who was squirming.

"Maman!" he called when he saw me, beaming. "Finally! You've been away so long."

I tried my best to ignore Meg's slightly accusing glance and focused on my son. They were both right, of course. I had said that I would only be gone for a few minutes, but it had taken me much longer to come back. Once more, I had put my own well-being over my children's.

"It's good that you're here at last," Meg stressed. "I tried to help Philippe, but he didn't want me to. According to him, you're the only one who can do it quite right."

"Maman or Papa," the boy corrected her as she moved aside and I took her place. "They both do it right, but Papa isn't home very often when I take a bath. Where is he now, Maman? And when will he come here?"

"Your father is busy at the moment," I explained, putting a lot of effort into sounding friendly as I talked about Raoul, although I didn't feel like it. "He's probably washing himself and putting on new clothes, just like you do. But I'm sure he'll be there when you go to bed." Personally, I didn't care whether Raoul was here or on the other side of the world, but I knew things were different for the children. After all, they hadn't argued with him.

"Go to bed?" Antoinette echoed. "Surely we don't have to go to bed already. It's much too early, and I'm not tired at all. Please, Maman…"

She threw me a pleading glance, yet since I had seen them about a thousand times before, I was more or less immune to them.

"Of course you'll go to bed once you'll be fresh and clean," I said calmly. "It's already much later than your usual bed-time. You must be tired."

"No, I'm…" The rest of her sentence was swallowed by a huge yawn. I smiled.

"Think of how nice it'll be to sleep here," Meg added. "You'll each have a big bed to yourself in your room. I'm sure you'll like it. It also has a wonderful view."

"I'll have to share a room with _him_?" Antoinette asked, making it sound as if her brother were a slimy slug.

I opened my mouth to tell her not to be that unfriendly, but Meg was faster.

"Yes," she replied evenly. "And you'll have so much fun talking when the lights are out. You wouldn't be able to do that in two separate rooms."

Seeing that his sister still looked far from convinced, Philippe went on:

"And Uncle Erik will come and tell us a bed-time story, just like he did before, won't he, Maman?".

"I don't know," I answered truthfully, even though I hated wiping the hopeful smile off his face. "Uncle Erik didn't say when he'll be here. Your father and I will be with you."

"But you can't tell stories like Uncle Erik," Philippe muttered, pouting. "He told me lots of stories when I was staying with him. He's the best story-teller in the world."

"We'll just have to wait and see whether he'll make it in time," I told him, smiling about the sparkle in his eyes that appeared there every time Uncle Erik was mentioned. "If he doesn't, I'm sure he'll tell you a story tomorrow."

My son still pouted a little, but he nodded reluctantly. Antoinette didn't say anything. That in itself was something unusual, but I blamed the fact that she was just talking to Mme.Giry and had maybe not heard us. I seized the sponge and washed Philippe quickly, since the water was getting cold. Then Meg and I lifted the children out of the bathtub and dried them with the fluffy white towels Mme.Giry gave us.

On the first glance, the little ones looked better, now that the dirt had gone, but in a way, it was even worse. The cuts and bruises stood out more clearly on the pale pink flesh. We spent another quarter of an hour dabbing salve on every injury. The doctor had already done so, but I insisted in repeating it, just to be certain I had done everything I could to make them comfortable.

When we were finished, we dressed the children in their new clothes. It turned out that the summer dress Meg had found for Antoinette was just right as a nightdress. It didn't have any buttons that could be uncomfortable at night, just a ribbon at the back, which we decided to leave open. The girl admired herself in the mirror for a long time, while I was helping Philippe with Jean's shirt, which Meg had given to me. It seemed that she had fetched it before coming to the bathroom.

I smiled as I looked at my son. Even with the sleeved rolled up to half their usual length, his hands nearly vanished under the fabric. The shirt came down to his knees, which gave him the appearance of a little white ghost.

"I'm much prettier than you," Antoinette remarked, turning around on the spot, so that we could see her from all sides.

"Well, I don't know," Meg said. "I think Philippe looks very nice as well. The two of you remind me of the times when I sneaked into my parents' bedroom and tried all their clothes…"

"…and left quite the chaos behind," Mme.Giry added sternly, but she was smiling as well.

Meg looked down and laid a hand on her belly. I knew the gesture only too well. She always did this when she thought of how sorry she was that she didn't have any children of her own. Pity welled up inside me, and for a moment, I regretted our argument.

I pulled myself together quickly, though, before anyone could notice it.

"We should better get you to bed now," I said. "Which bedroom have you given them, Meg?"

"I thought they could take the one right at the end of the corridor," she replied. Her hand was still resting on her belly, but the dreamy expression on her face had vanished. "There's a bigger bedroom next to it, and a door between the two rooms."

I nodded. I had a vague idea which rooms she was talking about. Antoinette seemed to have protested enough about being sent to bed, for she didn't make any further comment on the topic as we led the children away.

The door to their room stood open, and I could see that the beds were freshly made with sheets of crisp white linen. A lamp on the table was spreading an inviting light. It was obvious that the children liked the room as well, because they went inside and lay down at once. Antoinette didn't even argue about which bed she wanted to have.

I went inside last and was just about to close the door when someone seized the doorhandle from the outside and pulled. I let go of it at once and looked over my shoulder to see who was there.

"Can I come in as well?" Raoul asked, looking at me a little nervously.

"Of course," I replied stiffly, taking a step sideways. "They're your children, too."

So Raoul entered the room as well, before I finally closed the door.

"Papa!" the children cried from their beds, and Raoul went over to greet them. I watched them, heaving a sigh. They looked very happy together, and I wondered why I couldn't simply join them.

"Have you see Uncle Erik, Papa?" Philippe asked, as if to give the answer to my question. Erik was the reason why I couldn't join them. Too much had happened.

"No, I haven't," Raoul replied. I could practically see the muscles in his back grow tense as he straightened up. "But I'm sure we'll get along perfectly well without him… at least most of us." He looked over his shoulder and threw me a pointed glance.

"I want to hear a story," Philippe said, pouting again.

"And a story you'll get," a voice behind me assured him gently.

I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. There was just one person who had a voice that made me break out in gooseflesh and just one person who could enter a room witout anyone hearing it. Erik was here at last.

Walking over to the children, he brushed my cheek with the back of his hand, and I shivered with delight. How could such a small caress express so much affection?

"Which story do you want to hear?" he asked. "Do you have a particular one in mind?"

"Yes," Antoinette called instantly, sounding a little breathless, but determined. "I want to hear the story of what's under your mask. You said you'd tell us tonight, and now is tonight. So?"


	178. Chapter One Hundred and SeventyEight

**Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Eight**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Erik_

The room went quiet so suddenly as if everyone had been struck mute at the same time. Before, there had still been a little talking here and there, Mme.Giry had been whispering with Meg and Philippe with the Vicomte, but now there was absolute silence. Everyone was looking at me, eager to see how I'd react. I felt their glances on my back.

At first, I didn't react at all. I was too stunned to do more than stare wordlessly at the little girl in the bed, whose pretty little mouth had uttered such an ugly request. I took a certain pride in the fact that I was always prepared for everything that could occur, but I wasn't prepared for this. When I had pictured the situation in my mind, I had imagined the children lying in their beds, perhaps crying, in desperate need of someone to comfort them with nice stories.

Now I was the one who was shocked. Well, actually everyone else was shocked, too… except for Antoinette. And even the girl seemed to know exactly what an impact her words had had. I doubted that she had known it from the start, but she certainly was aware of it now. She was chewing on her lower lips, looking uneasy, probably because of the sudden silence.

I knew it was up to me to do something. I couldn't expect anyone else to take over my task and give the girl the answer to her questions, even if they had been able to do so. For the Opera Ghost, it would have been simple. He'd have refused the request with a few short words and disappeared. But I couldn't do such things anymore. I had spent too much time with the children – mainly with Philippe, of course, but also with Antoinette – to disappoint them now.

Besides, I had made a promise. I had promised that I'd tell them tonight what lay beneath my mask. With all that had happened, it had been easy for me to forget that promise, but apparently Antoinette hadn't forgotten it. And I had to deal with the consequences of her good memory now. If I told them the truth, I faced the risk that they'd be appalled. But if I didn't tell them anything or else made up a story, I'd be a liar, and I didn't want Philippe to think badly of me.

The decision was made. There was no other solution than honesty. I cleared my throat, which felt very dry.

"You're right, Antoinette," I said. "I promised to tell you about the mask, and I'll… and I'll do so."

I heard several sharp intakes of breath behind me. Then a warm hand touched my shoulder gently.

"You don't have to do this, Erik," Christine whispered "No one will force you. The children can have another story."

"They want this one," I told her simply. "So they'll get it."

Christine stepped even closer. Our bodies were almost touching, and I could smell the strange mixture of dirt, sweat and the sweet flowery soap that she used. It took me a lot of effort to keep myself from turning around and taking her into my arms in front of everyone. But I managed to remain strong.

"People have the tendency to want things that aren't good for them," she breathed, so that only I could hear it. "I also thought I wanted to see what was under the mask and…" She didn't finish her sentence, but I knew what she wanted to say. She had been disgusted by my appearance.

I covered her hand with mine in a silent thank you. I appreciated her attempt to help me. Yet our tender moment was interrupted by the Vicomte.

"You know, I think he's right," he said loudly. "A promise is a promise. If he told the children he'd explain about the mask, he should certainly do so."

He sounded positively gleeful, which made me puzzled. I'd have been sure he'd be furious if he found out what I wanted to expose the children to. Yet it only took me a moment to understand his motive: He regarded the situation as a chance to get closer to the children himself. If they were appalled by me, it would automatically bring them closer to him. It never ceased to surprise me just how low this man could stoop.

Of course this made my situation even more difficult. If I didn't tell the children now, the Vicomte would make sure they'd think me a liar, even if they wouldn't have done so on their own. But if I told them and they reacted in the way I feared, he'd be the winner. Apparently I was the only one who could never win, no matter what I did.

And then, in this moment in which I had no idea what to do, Mme.Giry spoke.

"Why don't we all leave now?" she suggested calmly, as if she hadn't noticed any of the tension in the room. "We could take a little nightcap in the sitting room, and then it'll be bed-time for us as well. This is between Erik and the children, and none of us should interfere."

"But I'm their father," the Vicomte protested. "I have the right to – "

"You have the right to leave them alone every now and then, when they need it," Mme.Giry said sternly. "You'll still be their father in the morning, and they'll still need you then. At the moment, they need something else, something you cannot give them."

Even I found it hard to disagree with Mme.Giry if she was in this mood, and the Vicomte certainly was no match for her.

"All right," he muttered through gritted teeth. "I'll go. Christine?"

I was still covering her hand with mine, and I applied a little more pressure, holding her where she was. I didn't want her to leave. If I truly told the story of the mask, I'd need as much support as possible.

Christine seemed to understand all this without me having to explain it to her. It was a sign of how close we were.

"Go without me, Raoul," she said. "I'm still needed here. And don't…" She cleared her throat. "…don't wait for me when you go to bed. There are a few things I have to discuss with Erik."

Now I simply had to throw a triumphant glance over my shoulder. The Vicomte looked shocked.

"But Christine…" he murmured. "I thought we could…" His voice trailed off as Mme.Giry steered him out of the room.

Meg followed them, but stopped when she was next to Christine.

"If it's not too late when you're finished, come to my room," she said in a low voice. "There's something I have to tell you. Something important." Before Christine could respond with anything more than a nod, Meg walked away and closed the door behind her with a snap.

I'd have given a lot to find out what had happened while I had not been here. Something had obviously been going on between Christine and Meg as well as between Christine and the Vicomte. I hadn't failed to notice the tension between them. But now was not the right time to ask her about it. The children had listened to the adults' conversation patiently and were now gazing up at me expectantly, waiting for me to start.

Sometime in between, the decision had been made a second time, and it was still the same. I wasn't sure who had made it or why, but it had happened. I had to tell them the truth, no matter what the consequences would be. I just had to do it. It was all clear in my head, as if I had known the outcome from the start.

I settled down on a chair in the gap between the children's beds, which was barely wide enough. Christine fetched a second chair and sat down opposite me, so that she could look at me. We were sitting so closely together that out knees were touching, and I drew more comfort from that little touch that I'd have believed it possible.

"Can we finally start now?" Antoinette asked, managing to sound bored with the previous conversation and excited about what was to come at the same time. It might have been surprising, but neither of the children looked remotely sleepy. They were far too eager to hear my story.

"Yes… yes, we will start now," I replied heavily. "You wanted to know what lies beneath the mask, and you will know it. The right side of my face is deformed since my birth. It… it is… many people have tried to describe it, but there are no words for such horrors, because they shouldn't exist at all. It looks like…" I sighed, annoyed with my own disability to explain.

"What does it look like?" Antoinette wanted to know keenly. "Why don't you explain it properly?"

"I told you: There are no words for it," I said. "But if you really want to know, I… I can show you…"

Christine gasped.

"Erik…" she breathed, but it was too late. I had made up my mind. The girl was right: Now that I had started doing it, I could as well do it properly.

I seized the edges of my mask with trembling fingers and took it off. Then I turned my head, first in Antoinette's direction, then in Philippe's. Seeing the flicker of fear in my boy's eyes was almost more than I could bear. He took one look a me in my full ugliness, then he crawled out of his bed and ran away. The door closed behind him.


	179. Chapter One Hundred and SeventyNine

**Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Nine**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Erik_

As I had stated before, there were horrors in this world that people had no words for. The feelings that were rushing through me as Philippe fled from the room were one of those indescribable horrors. Calling myself sad would have been as insufficient as calling my face not very beautiful. It was more as if my heart was turned into lead, slowly, painfully, pulling my body downwards. It was a small miracle that I managed to remain sitting and didn't fall to the floor, writhing in agony.

Christine's voice drifted to my ears from afar.

"Do you want me to go after him?" she asked uncertainly.

I shook my head slowly. Even that little motion cost me enormous strength. Was the rest of my body turning into lead as well?

"No", I managed to get out with difficulty. "Leave him alone… he needs to recover from the shock…" I gave her a painful smile. "How very much like you he is," I observed. "You wanted to run from me as well…"

She fell silent, knowing I was right. If I hadn't held her back on that fateful night when I had first taken her down to my lair, she'd have run as fast as her feet would have carried her, even into a world she had known nothing about. She'd have probably preferred drowning in the lake to being with me for another moment.

And now Philippe was just as appalled. It occurred to me that perhaps I should have exposed him to the sight of my face sooner. If he had seen it ever since he had been an infant, he'd have maybe grown used to it. But I had been too scared, too disgusted by my own appearance to show my face more often than necessary. Besides, my mother was the perfect example for the fact that it could also work the other way around. I had always had the impression that she had grown more disgusted every time she had looked at me. It was no wonder that I had decided to leave her house soon.

A thin, hesitant voice brought me back to the present.

"May I… touch it?" Antoinette asked softly. Hr eyes were wide and her face pale, and yet I could see a hint of the normal curiosity.

"Of course," I replied with a resigned shrug. What did it matter whether she touched me? She'd hate me anyway, so she could as well satisfy her curiosity first. It made no difference.

I turned in my seat, so that the girl could reach me from her bed. She sat up, and a moment later, her fingers hovered uncertainly over my cheek.

"You don't have to touch it," I told her in what I hoped was a gentle rather than miserable voice. "I hardly do it myself, unless I have to."

"What does it feel like to have such a face?" she wanted to know shyly.

"It doesn't feel like anything special," I answered. "It's just like the other side of my face, just… different." Inwardly I cringed, realising that the explanation hadn't made any sense.

Antoinette seized my moment of inattention. The tips of her fingers touched my cheek. I jumped at the sudden contact, as though she had slapped me. This in turn made the girl jump and pull her hand back.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked in a small voice. "I didn't mean to… you told me it was all right…"

I could have kicked myself for having made the poor child even more frightened. Wasn't it enough that I had scared away her brother?

"You didn't hurt me," I hastened to assure her. "It has just been a while since the last time someone touched me like that." I looked at Christine, who blushed prettily. Of course she had been the last one to touch me there.

She seemed to take my glance as encouragement to become involved as well, for she asked her daughter:

"What did it feel like?"

"Strange…" the girl replied with a sideways glance at me. "Rough… like old leather or bricks or… I don't know…"

"Now you know why I couldn't describe it," I said gently. "Not even I, who have lived with it all my life, have the right words."

"All your life?" Antoinette breathed. "So you've never been… handsome?"

I shook my head.

"Never," I answered. "But wearing a mask at least keeps people from running away when they see me."

I threw a sad glance at the door.

"I didn't run away," the girl reminded me, and there was something like pride in her voice. "I'm much braver than Philippe."

"Your brother is still very young," I muttered. "And he has always been more easily scared than you."

Antoinette nodded, a satisfied smile on her lips.

I sighed. I didn't like to be reminded of that fact that my face was something that people had to be brave in order to look at. My little boy hadn't been brave enough. He hadn't been able to stand the sight of his own godfather's face.

Feeling tears sting in my eyes, I tried to pull myself together and think of something else, but my head was filled with the sound of the door closing behind Philippe. A single tear escaped my eye. I didn't fail to notice the irony that it ran down my right cheek.

Hastily I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket and wiped my face with it. Being ugly was one thing. Being ugly and weak was something rather different. As I closed my eyes and ran the piece of fabric down my cheek, it met an obstacle. Blinking in confusion, I saw that the girl had approached me again. Her fingers were resting lightly on my deformed cheek.

"Philippe is stupid," she whispered. "You're still the same Uncle Erik as before. You just… look strange."

I felt a rush of gratitude and affection for the little girl, mingled with guilt. Her opinion hadn't meant as much to me as Philippe's. But now I was very glad that she was here, stroking my face with feathery-light touches. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Christine watching her daughter, glowing with pride.

I closed my eyes again, trying to take in as much as possible of the unfamiliar and wonderful sensations I felt. It was strange to be touched by fingers so small, so unlike my own. I had rarely experienced it. When Philippe had been an infant, he had sometimes run his tiny hands over the smooth surface of the mask, doubtlessly attracted by its shiny material. Yet as he had grown older and tried to feel around the edges of the mask, I had pushed back his curious fingers. The risk of him accidentally removing it had simply been too high. From that day on, he hadn't tried to touch my face again.

And now a little girl was doing just that. Her hands were warm and soft, unlike the twisted mass of flesh that was the right side of my face. Now that she knew she wasn't hurting me, she had lost some of her shyness and was touching me the way she wanted to. And I didn't mind her satisfying her curiosity at all. Perhaps there'd be at least one child who'd learn to live with my appearance.

"Stop!" someone called, just as I was beginning to enjoy myself. For a second, I thought the Vicomte had returned, for it would have been exactly the kind of thing he liked to do. But no, it had been a child's voice. Since there were but two children in this house, and one of them was sitting in front of me, this could only mean one thing: Philippe was back.

My eyes snapped open, and I turned my head towards the door. Yes, there was the boy, coming towards us quickly. His sister was so surprised that she had taken her hand away from me for a moment, yet when she moved it into the direction of my face again, Philippe repeated:

"Stop! Didn't you hear what Maman said before? We mustn't touch wounds with our bare hands!"

He climbed onto Antoinette's bed and pushed her aside. It was so unlike his normal behaviour that the girl didn't even protest, but simply straightened up again and sat down next to her brother.

"Here," Philippe said, holding up his hand. It was only then that I noticed he was clutching something in his fist: a glass jar with a creamy white substance.

"Oh…" Christine made. She seemed to understand more than I did. "It's the salve we used for the children's injuries," she explained, interpreting my puzzled glance correctly. "Did you go and fetch it from the bathroom, Philippe?"

The boy nodded seriously.

"My knees hurt a lot when I grazed them, and when you put the salve onto them, they felt better," he said. "Uncle Erik's face looks much worse than my knees, so I thought he should use the salve to make him feel better as well…"

My heart was swelling with emotion. So Philippe hadn't run away because I had frightened him, but because he had assumed my face was a terrible wound. It made me feel happy and sad at the same time.

"It's not an injury I have," I told him. "I was born with it. It doesn't hurt, but sadly, it won't become better either, no matter how much salve I put onto it. I'll look like this for all times."

I watched him anxiously to see how he reacted to that unpleasant revelation. Perhaps I had put it too bluntly, but I didn't want him to be in any doubt about it.

"You can touch him," Antoinette encouraged her brother. "I won't hurt him."

Philippe put down the salve, and soon I had two little hands touching me instead of one. It felt even better than before.

"You see?" the girl asked. "He's still the same Uncle Erik."

"I know," he gave back, his finger tracing my cheekbone. "And I love my Uncle Erik."

"I love you, too, Philippe," I mumbled. "And you, Antoinette." Quickly I made sure that I was still holding the handkerchief. If the tears in my eyes were anything to go by, I'd still need it.


	180. Chapter One Hundred and Eighty

**Chapter One Hundred and Eighty**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Christine_

I had rarely been prouder of my children than when they both touched Erik's face, completely without fear, but full of affection for this wonderful man. Despite the worries that had made my heart heavy before, Antoinette and Philippe had accepted his appearance remarkably quickly. As a matter of fact, they had accepted it more quickly than I myself had done it, more than ten years ago, even though they were still so very young. I had ever right to be proud of them.

After a few minutes, they seemed to have enough and let go of him. They had been able to suppress their tiredness for a while, but now it was taking its toll. The children were stretching their arms into the air, yawning loudly. Cautiously, Erik picked up Philippe and carried him over to his own bed, tucking the blanket in around him.

"Christine, could you fetch me the water jug and two glasses from the table, please?" he then asked.

I complied, wondering what he was up to. After all, the children hadn't said that they were thirsty. I held the glasses in front of Erik, but instead of taking them immediately, he poured a greenish liquid into them out of a small bottle, which he then put into an inside pocket of his coat again. The substance swirled in the water, turning it light green.

"It'll help the children sleep," he explained in a low voice. "They may appear calm now, but no one can tell when the images of what happened today will come to haunt them. I don't want it to happen at night, when they're all alone in the world of their dreams and nightmares. This will keep them from dreaming. They should take it before they sleep for a few days. I'll leave you a larger bottle in the bathroom."

"Where did you get it?" I asked, fascinated. Erik really was prepared for every occasion.

"Oh, I already had it at home," he replied. "It's similar to the one I gave Philippe when we were dissecting the… erm, the bodies. The relaxing effect is just much higher in this one. I take it myself, you know, in a stronger version. Believe me, there are days when I don't want to dream either." Then he turned to the children, ingnoring my sympathetic glance. "Drink this," he said, taking the glasses from me at last and handing each child one of them. "It'll make you sleep tight until morning."

Philippe seized the glass at once and started drinking, but Antoinette eyed the contents warily.

"It'll make us sleep?" she repeated slowly. "But what if something happens? What if we can't wake up?" Her voice had grown shrill, and there was panic in her eyes. At once, Philippe put his glass down.

Quickly, I went over to my daughter and took her into my arms.

"Nothing will happen to you," I assured her, pressing her trembling little body against mine. "We'll all be there for you: Uncle Erik, your father, Meg, Aunt Antoinette and I. We won't let anything happen to you. And if you do wake up at night, you can always come to us. The room of your father and me is just next door." Personally, I wasn't sure whether we'd be spending the night in the same room, but that was not something I could tell the girl. One of us would be in the room, that much was certain.

The trembling stopped, and Antoinette freed herself out of the embrace to look at me with big, fearful eyes.

"I'm so scared, Maman," she whispered. "I've never been scared before, but now I am. What's happening to me? Why am I such a coward all of a sudden?"

"You're not a coward," Erik said firmly, before I had the chance to react. "You've been through a lot today. You've experienced things that would reduce most adults to tears. It's normal to be scared every now and then. Everyone is. It doesn't change the fact that you're a wonderful little girl."

Looking over my shoulder at Erik, Antoinette smiled brightly. I couldn't help being impressed. He had only had a few days to truly get to know my daughter, and yet he had found out so much about her personality. He knew how much being courageous in every situation meant to the girl, and how frightening the prospect of losing that part of her character had to be for her. Of course I could understand all that as well, but it meant more if the words of comfort came from him, who didn't often say such things.

"Where will you be, Uncle Erik?" Philippe asked. "In which room can I find you when I'm scared?"

Erik threw me an uncertain glance, and I shrugged. I hadn't thought about where Erik would sleep. I hadn't even thought about whether he'd stay here or go back to his home.

"I'm not sure," he replied. "But I won't be far away."

"We'll have to see whether Meg has a room for him," I added. "Just come to me when you're afraid of something, and we'll find Uncle Erik together."

"Drink the water now," Erik said. "It'll make you stop worrying and help you slumber like little angels."

The children giggled a little and finally emptied their glasses in long gulps. The effect was almost immediate. A minute or two after the last drops of water had vanished in their mouths, Antoinette and Philippe started yawning again. Their eyelids drooped, and their heads sank onto their pillows. Erik and I could just save the glasses from falling to the floor as their grip on them grew loose.

"Little angels indeed," I muttered softly.

"They'll never be as lovely as my big angel, though," Erik remarked, looking deep into my eyes. A shiver ran down my spine.

"Do we want to go?" I asked. "I think they're fast asleep."

He threw a glance at the children and nodded. We got to our feet quietly and made our way to the door, carrying our chairs back to the table as we went. It would have been terrible if the children woke up at night, stood up and fell over a chair in the darkness. I placed the glasses on the table.

"Ready?" I whispered.

"Almost," Erik replied. He carefully slipped the mask back onto his face. "In case anyone's in the corridor," he explained before asking: "Where do we go? Do you have a particular place in mind?"

"The library," I answered without thinking. "No one will be in there at this time of night. Besides… oh, you'll see."

"See what?" he wanted to know, but I merely smiled. I had just recalled a unique feature of Meg's library, one that even Jean couldn't have changed. I was sure Erik would like it just as much as I did.

The library was in a different part of the house. Erik left the door of the children's bedroom ajar, claiming that he'd be able to hear them call for us, no matter where in the house we'd be. As I knew how good his hearing was, I trusted him without further questions. All I cared about at the moment was getting away from the corridor as quickly as possible. I didn't know how long the nightcap Mme.Giry had suggested would last and was afraid of meeting someone, especially Raoul. I didn't feel like arguing yet again.

Fortunately, we didn't see anyone, and the library was still where it had been the last time I had seen it. I remembered Meg showing it to me a few months ago, when it had just been redecorated, just as she had shown me her dressing room today. For obvious reasons, I had been much more enthusiastic then. The thing I had admired most had been the balcony, on which we had sat and talked. And that was where I led Erik.

"Truly remarkable," he breathed, looking around as I closed the door behind us. I had brought a small lamp, which I now placed on the little table that stood there with two chairs. Actually the table had been standing between the chairs, but as soon as Erik had settled down on one of them, I took the other one and placed it next to his. I didn't want anything to stand between us tonight, not even in the most literal sense of the word.

For a while, we just sat there in silence, gazing at the sky. It was velvety black and dotted with thousands of stars. Since there were no streets around the house, there were no streetlamps to disturb the darkness. Apart from the small lamp, the stars were the only source of light. It was just enough to make out the features of Erik's face.

"The children accepted me more readily than I thought," Erik remarked suddenly. "I have to admit that my heart stopped when Philippe ran out of the room, but it all ended well. They're a lot like their mother. I was afraid that the Vicomte could have influenced them too much."

"You don't have to worry about that," I assured him, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "Raoul isn't home often enough to influence the children in any way…"

"Was that what the two of you were arguing about?" he asked.

I threw him a surprised glance.

"How do you know we were arguing?" I wanted to know suspiciously. "You haven't… talked to Meg, have you?"

Erik shook his head.

"Of course not," he replied. "How should I have done that? I came to you right away, and Meg was with you at the time. No, I simply couldn't fail to notice the tension between you. So… what have you been arguing about? Was it the fact that he's away from home too often?"

"Yes," I answered slowly. "But that was not the main topic. We were arguing… well, about you. About you and me, to be precise. He wanted to know what happened between us, so I told him."

"And how did he react?" Erik asked. He tried his best to sound casual, but I thought I heard a trace of excitement.

"He was angry, of course," I said. "But it was nothing compared to how angry I was. Raoul is such a hypocrite. First he doesn't think anything about leaving me alone with you, and then he gets furious when he has to deal with the consequences. You'd never leave me alone like that, would you?"

I moved my hand to the side, yet to my surprise, Erik didn't take it. Instead, he cleared his throat. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but I couldn't help thinking that he looked very uncomfortable.

"Well… actually…" he muttered.


	181. Chapter One Hundred and EightyOne

**Chapter One Hundred and Eighty-One**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Erik_

I didn't have to see the stunned expression on Christine's face to know I had done it all wrong. I had planned to tell her slowly, enumerating one fact after the other, in a way she'd understand and accept, and preferrably in a private, but less romantic atmosphere than this one.

Well, it was too late for changing it now. Christine's blind trust in the assumption that I'd be at her side for all times had made me blurt out with the unpleasant truth, and now I had to do my best to make things right again.

"Actually what?" she asked anxiously. "Will you leave me as well?" She fell silent and seemed to think about something. Then she inhaled sharply. "Have you been hurt so badly in the fight? But I can't see anything… Is there something wrong with your heart, maybe? Oh, you shouldn't have done so much to save us. And I didn't even notice it! I thought you were all right, but you're not, are you? You don't have much time left, and now you've come to say goodbye…"

Up to now, I had been too shocked by her sudden almost hysterical outburst to reply, but as I saw the first tears in her eyes, I knew I had to act quickly.

"I'm not dying, Christine," I assured her hastily. "I'm fine. A little fight like that couldn't have given me such injuries. Actually, it's just the other way around. I've never felt so alive before."

I smiled at her, but she looked at me as though she didn't understand anything. It was obvious that I had to explained more.

"I told you once that I didn't know how much time I had still left," I started. "And that was true at the time. Compared to all the young people I saw at the opera every day and also to Philippe, I felt very old indeed. But the fight and all that came with it showed me one thing: I'm not dead. There are still many things I can do. And that's exactly what I want. I want to travel around the world, to the places where I lived when I was younger and to those I've never been to. I want to do all this… as long as I still can."

"You want to go?" she repeated faintly, her eyes still full of tears. "Just like that?"

"I've thought about it ever since I left you earlier today," I said. "There's no other way. I mustn't wait too long, or it might be too late for me after all. I'm still healthy at the moment, but who knows how long it'll last?"

"And Philippe?" she asked. "He relies on you to be there for him, and he needs you, now more than ever. Do you want to deprive him of one of the most important people in his life?"

"I've thought about this as well," I replied, glad that I had rehearsed at least this part of the conversation in my head. I had known that the question would come up sooner or later. "First of all, I won't leave right away. I still have to organise everything, and it'll take a while. So I'll be with the boy till his worst fears will be gone. I'd also like to give him a few tasks at the opera, so he'll have something to do, and the people won't notice I'm not there. And then, when I come back, I'd… I'd like to take him with me for a while." I uttered the last part very softly, almost shyly, for I knew that she'd like it even less than the rest of what I had said.

Christine stared at me as though she thought me insane.

"You can't take him away from me," she cried, her voice so loud in the silence of the night that I jumped. "He's still so little. He needs his mother. Letting him live with you for a few days was all right, but in a foreign country and maybe for weeks and weeks? Never!"

"I don't know how long I'll be gone," I pointed out. "It could be more than a year. By that time, Philippe will be older, and of course I'd never take him with me against his own free will. If I manage to organise everything the way I want, I'll come to Paris every few months to look after my business at the opera and to spend time with Philippe. And one day, when you and I think he's ready, I'll ask him to come with me. Is that a plan you could agree with?" I looked at her pleadingly.

"I'm not sure," she answered hesitantly. "Give me a little time to think about it, will you?"

I nodded readily.

"You don't have to decide anything before I leave," I said. "And even after I'll be gone, we'll stay in touch. I'll send you letters, and if I stay somewhere for a few weeks, I'll give you the address, so you'll be able to write me as well."

My words should have sounded soothing, but apparently, they had just the opposite effect on Christine. For a moment, she looked at me with her big eyes, like a girl who had expected a new doll for her birthday and got a pair of woollen stockings instead. Then she burst into tears. It was clear that she had thought the conversation would go into a very different direction, but I wasn't sure which one.

Comforting someone who was sitting in a chair a few feet away wasn't an easy task. I couldn't even embrace her without the armrests being in the way. So I merely inched my chair closer to hers and patted her on the arm. Compared to how close we had been in the last days, it was truly pathetic. But then, I could hardly complain about it. My own words had built a wall between us. The least I could do was try to make it slightly better by talking.

"I know you think I'm leaving the children and you all alone," I told her. "But I'll still be able to help you. If you need something, you can always send me a note to the address I'll give you once I'll know it myself. I can also leave you money, if that's what you're worried about. I'll give you whatever sum you need. And if you don't want to stay here with Meg, I'll find you a new house. It's not as if I were abandoning you. I'm still willing to take responsibility for –"

Christine turned around to me abruptly, my hand slipping off her arm.

"Responsibility?" she shrieked. It seemed to be her purpose in this conversation to repeat parts of what I had said. "That's all we are for you? That's all _I am_ for you? I… I thought there was something special between us…" Her voice trailed off.

"That's not what I wanted to say," I muttered, stumbling over my own words in the attempt to get them out as quickly as possible. "I just meant that… I meant…" I sighed, realising that this would get me nowhere. A different approach was necessary, and for that approach, I needed far more physical contact that a hand on her arm.

I got up from my chair and kneeled down in front of Christine, suppressing the urge to wince in pain as my knees, one of which had received a vicious kick in the fight, came into contact with the stone floor of the balcony. One of the things that told me I wasn't dead was the pain. Despite the effort it took me to remain in this position, I smiled up at her, taking her hands.

"I love you, Christine," I said solemnly. "I've loved you for more than ten years, and I'll love you for the rest of my days, no matter how long or how short that will be. You and Philippe and also Antoinette have become my family, but… but I know this isn't real. It only worked well for a few days. Please don't think me ungrateful – those days have been wonderful, much better than anything I could have hoped for. But they were just an exceptionally beautiful illusion. It wouldn't work that well forever. You… you wouldn't want me at your side for all times."

"But perhaps I would want it after all," she disagreed with me. "Perhaps I would choose you. I certainly don't want Raoul at the moment, and – "

"That's precisely what I mean," I interrupted her quickly. "At the moment! At the moment, you're angry at the Vicomte, and you think that being with me would be better. But we've also had our arguments, haven't we? And one day, we'd have an argument so serious that you'd think living with the Vicomte would be better after all, and you'd go back to him. Don't you see in what a chaos this would plunge us, and the children as well? I just want to avoid that we hurt each other any more than we already have."

"Your plan isn't working too well," Christine stated bitterly. "You're already hurting me."

One look into her eyes, which had grown as cold as ice, told me that I had been pursuing a wrong approach. Perhaps hating rather than understanding me would help her get over everything more quickly.

"Well, that's what I've chosen to do, and you have to accept it," I said matter-of-factly, getting to my feet. "I'll go now and ask Meg whether she has a room for me. Good night, Christine. We'll see each other in the morning."

I crossed the length of the library quickly, before she could reply, and opened the door. And there, standing on the threshold, his hand raised as if about to knock, was the Vicomte.


	182. Chapter One Hundred and EightyTwo

**Chapter One Hundred and Eighty-Two**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Raoul_

"What do you want?" the Phantom asked, the hostility cleary audible.

I lowered my arm, realising that I didn't have to knock anymore. If I had known they were in there, I'd have just listened at the door. Perhaps I'd have been able to hear something interesting… or revolting.

"I want to see my wife… if you don't mind," I replied icily. "I would have been here sooner, but I checked the bedrooms first. After all the things I heard, I'd have expected you to be in one of them rather than in a room full of books. Well, I suppose that if the two right people come together, the surroundings don't matter."

The words had sounded cold and ironic in my head, but when they left my mouth, they were just as full of pain as I felt on the inside. If I could have taken them back, I'd have done so. How did the Phantom do it? How was it possible that his mere presence made me spill out my feelings, whereas he remained perfectly calm?

"You're wrong, Vicomte, and not for the first time," he said. "Christine and I didn't do any of the things you were obviously thinking of. Not today, anyway." He smirked. "We were just talking. She does have a sense for creating a romantic atmosphere, doesn't she?" He indicated the balcony at the end of the room behind him, but I had barely heard his last sentences anyway.

"How could you lie with a married woman?" I hissed. "How could you?"

"Well, that was rather simple, really," he answered pleasantly. "It wasn't harder than lying with an unmarried woman…"

"That is not what I mean, and you know it," I muttered, feeling increasingly helpless. I was the one asking the questions, and still he was the one in charge of the conversation. I just couldn't understand it.

"Oh, you're trying to appeal to my moral conscience then?" he drawled. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but none such thing exists in me – a fact which you should be aware of by now. You should have known that if I got the chance to have my way with Christine, I'd do so. And believe me, she was more than willing."

My hands clenched into fists at my sides. Nothing had changed between us, nothing at all. He was still as unpleasant as ever, and I was still just as furious at him. I wanted nothing more than to punch him straight in the face to wipe that smirk off it, even if it meant that my hand would hurt again. Yet before I could do as much as raise my arm, a voice came from inside the room.

"What's going on?" Christine called. "Erik, are you still there? And Raoul? What are you doing?"

"Nothing," the Phantom replied merrily. "He'll be with you in a moment, and I'm about to leave. There's no need to worry."

I gave a sigh, abandoing all hopes of hitting him anytime soon. Now that I was aware that Christine knew we were both there, I couldn't do it anymore. It would have made her opinion of me even worse, and that was the last thing I needed at the moment. I threw the Phantom an angry glance, but he merely smiled. I should have known that it needed more than a glance to intimidate a man who could kill with a flick of his lasso.

"Listen," he whispered suddenly, and I was surprised about the urgency in his voice. "There's something you should know before you talk to Christine: I'll leave the country. I don't know how long I'll be gone. It could be a year or more, and I'll only come back to Paris every few months."

A warmth spread through my belly and up to my heart. My face split into a wide smile.

"You're leaving?" I repeated incredulously, hardly daring to believe my luck.

He nodded shortly.

"But I'll still stay in touch with Christine and Philippe," he stressed. "So treat them well. I have my ways of reaching you, even if I'm not around myself."

"Have you just told me this in advance in order to threaten me?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "I wanted to inform you that things will change in the future. I hope that Christine's indecision will change as well, now that I made the decision so much easier for her. But you mustn't pressure her. She's been through enough already."

"I know that," I said hotly, only to swallow the rest of my retort as I looked at him. Somehow, the aggressive atmosphere had vanished during the last sentences, and all that remained was a strange kind of calm. I sensed that it wouldn't have been right to stay aggressive myself. "I'll take good care of Christine and the children," I promised.

For some reason I didn't understand myself, I stretched out my hand. He looked at it warily, as if expecting a trap, then he shook it. We both let go very quickly. The fact that we agreed on something for once didn't mean that we liked each other.

"I have to go now," the Phantom announced abruptly. "And you should better get inside, before Christine calls for you again."

"Are you leaving the country tonight?" I asked, making a feeble attempt to mask my happiness.

"No," he answered. "It'll take a few weeks to prepare everything. I'm sorry to disappoint you," he added, the smirk reappearing on his face. It was still irritating, but not as much as before. Now that I knew that I wouldn't have to endure him for much longer, it was a lot easier to be tolerant.

"Goodbye then," I said as he stepped over the threshold, leaving the door open for me. "And…" I cleared my throat. "…and thank you for looking after my family. Most of the time, you seem to have done all right."

The Phantom opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if he were rethinking what he had wanted to say.

"You're welcome," he muttered as he started to walk down the corridor.

Now I could finally go inside. I closed the door behind me and crossed the room with fast strides. I felt positively elated, as if I were gliding rather than walking. The glorious news and all they implied hit me with full force, and I couldn't help laughing loudly. The Phantom would leave. He'd finally leave Christine and the children alone, and we'd be a proper family again.

The future had looked rather dark before, but now it shone with a new light. Yes, we had lost our house and probably all that had been in it, but suddenly that didn't seem to be very important anymore. I was not a poor man. We'd be able to buy a new house and a lot of new things. And yes, Jacqueline and Jacques were lying in hospital, but I was sure they'd recover. I'd pay for the best doctors and the best care. Life would be good again.

Christine was crying. I could hardly believe my eyes as I walked outside. She was sitting on a chair on the balcony, sobbing into her handkerchief. It was so unlike my own cheerful mood that I needed a moment to understand it. How could she be crying when things were finally getting better?

"Don't cry, love," I whispered softly. "It's fine. I'm with you."

Quickly I settled down on the chair next to hers. At first I thought it best to just mutter words of sympathy and leave her in peace, for I was sure she was merely overcome by emotions because the day's events had been too much for her. Yet when she hadn't stopped after several minutes, I felt the need to do something more.

"What is it?" I asked. "Why are you crying? Is it because of _him_?"

Christine's face was still buried in her handkerchief, but she inclined her head slightly. I took it as a yes.

"I know it has to be hard for you to see him leave," I said, trying to sound sympathetic rather than gleeful. "He told me about it just now. I know he meant a lot to you. But he won't be gone forever. You know how quickly time passes. Just a few months, then he'll be back." Personally, I had the tiny little hope that he wouldn't come back at all. The world was a dangerous place, as we had all been reminded of just today, and who knew what would happen to him? But of course I didn't share that thought with my wife.

"And we'll be happy together," I went on when she didn't reply. "I'll have a lot of time for the family and also for you. I… I want you to know that I forgive you for what you've done with the Phantom… as long as it doesn't happen again in the future." I chuckled softly. With the Phantom out of the country, how likely was it that it would happen again?

At last, Christine looked up. There were tears caught in her eyelashes, just like I had expected. Yet I hadn't expected her to look this furious.

"You don't understand anything, do you, Raoul?" she whispered. "You can't seriously think that things will be all right again, just because Erik's leaving. Raoul, I… I don't want to be with you anymore."


	183. Chapter One Hundred and EightyThree

**Chapter One Hundred and Eighty-Three**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Christine_

Raoul gaped at me, his mouth hanging slightly open. The expression on his face was a mixture of astonishment and disbelief.

"Are you… making a joke?" he asked. "It is not funny, Christine."

"I know it's not," I gave back in a slightly irritated voice. He should have known me better than to think that I'd make jokes about such a serious topic.

It occurred to me that perhaps he didn't believe me because of the tears in my eyes. Perhaps he assumed that I was tying to make him forget I had been crying by making a joke. Hastily I wiped the tears away and put the handkerchief back into my pocket to show that I wouldn't start crying again anytime soon. At least I hoped I wouldn't.

"I'm serious," I told him. "I'm sorry that I've taken your by surprise, but I didn't know how else to say it. I just don't want to be with you anymore, Raoul, at least – "

He didn't let me finish my sentence.

"But why?" he cried. "We're married for more than ten years. We did have a few problems, yes, but all couples have them every now and then. Can't we just forget them and focus on the good times we had… and on our future?" He looked at me pleadingly.

"Oh Raoul," I said, shaking my head. "That is what you always want to do: push things out of our heads and never talk about them again. But that's not the way it works. I can't forget the problems we had… just like you can't forget what happened between Erik and me, no matter how hard you try and how often you tell me you will."

"So he's the one behind it again," Raoul called. "I knew it. You want to go away with him, don't you? You want to leave the children and me alone!"

"No!" I cried. "I'd never do that!" It was true that it had crossed my mind briefly, but as I had heard Erik call that he'd be leaving, I had understood that it was not what he wanted. That was when I had started crying.

"Of course you'd do that," he gave back. "It's what you're planning. You've just said it yourself."

"I said I don't want to be with _you_ anymore," I stressed. "It has nothing to do with the children. They'll stay with me."

"And I won't be allowed to see them anymore!" he howled. "They're my children as well, and – "

"You will see them," I corrected him. "Of course you will. You're their father, and you always will be. You'll be able to visit them whenever you want. Besides… perhaps we won't be separated forever."

If possible, the expression on Raoul's face grew even more puzzled.

"What do you mean?" he asked slowly.

"If you had let me finish speaking before, I'd have told you," I replied pointedly. "I don't want to be with you… for a while. I just… I just want a little time to think everything over."

"But you could also do that without leaving me," he argued eagerly. "I'll give you all the time you need."

He took my hand again, but I snatched it out of his grasp almost immediately.

"You don't understand," I muttered. "I need time to be completely alone. It would be pointless if you were standing in the background, waiting for me to be finished. If anything, if would influence my decision against you."

At last, comprehension seemed to dawn on him. It was not a pretty sight. He looked deeply hurt, as if someone had just thrust a knife into his heart. And that someone was me.

"I understand," he brought out with great difficulty. "If I agree now, I have at least a chance that you'll decide to be with me in the end."

I nodded.

"It's the only way I can think of," I told him gently. "Perhaps it won't take me that long after all. A couple of weeks, and I'll be back at your side."

"Or maybe not," he mumbled. Straightening up, he then changed the subject quickly. "So, have you thought about how to do it?" he asked matter-of-factly.

"Not really," I replied honestly. "I haven't planned anything yet." I didn't want him to think that I had had the idea of leaving him a while ago, when in truth it had only just appeared in my head. "I guess it also depends on what is happening with our house," I added.

"I don't think anyone is going to live there for a few months," Raoul said pensively. "Even if the walls haven't been damaged badly enough for the whole house to need rebuilding, a lot of redecoration and cleaning will have to be done. It could take a while. I thought about renting a house for us, but…"

He didn't finish his sentence, but I understood him anyway. I didn't need a reminder of how my revelation had destroyed his plans. I could imagine it very well.

"We'll have to find two separate places then," I muttered.

Raoul inhaled sharply.

"What will everyone think of us?" he exclaimed.

I threw him a sideways glance. I didn't care what ´everyone´ thought of us. There were far more important things.

"I know, I know, it shouldn't matter to me," he acknowledged, interpreting my glance correctly. "But you mustn't forget that our family is rather famous in Paris, at least in certain circles of society. What will everyone think of us if they hear you've left me? We both know how vicious gossip can be, don't we? The most dreadful rumours could come up if people find out about us. Wives don't leave their husbands unless they have very good reasons. They'll think that I've hit you… or that I've done something to the children! Oh God…"

A dry sob escaped his mouth, and he buried his face in his hands.

Now I was the one who inhaled sharply. I had to admit that I hadn't considered such things at all. In the little time since I had made my decision, I had only thought about how to tell Raoul and what his reaction might be. I hadn't taken one moment to think about other people.

And then another thought, one that was just as terrible, hit me: What if people thought it had something to do with Erik? Perhaps one of our neighbours had seen him after all and would tell someone else about him once the story of me leaving my husband got out. Perhaps that someone would see the connection between the mysterious stranger and the Phantom of the Opera and would realise that they were one and the same person. I still felt sick every time I thought about the gossip that had spread all over the city after the first night of ´Don Juan Triumphant´, and I had no desire to have any more of it.

But how could it be avoided? Raoul and I could hardly live separate lives without anyone noticing it. What we needed was a good excuse. Suddenly I recalled what Larisse had said about the location of Meg's house and how difficult it would be for her to get to her husband every evening. An idea began to form in my head. It was a strange idea, but it could work.

"I think I have a plan," I started cautiously.

Raoul lifted his head slightly.

"We could tell everyone that you'll rent a flat in the centre of the city because it's closest to all your business partners. But unfortunately, the children and I won't be able to come with you because… because I have to stay here with Meg and care for our injured servants when they'll be released from the hospital. People would believe it at least for a few weeks, maybe longer. And afterwards, we'll still be able to think of something else."

"I think it might work," he said slowly. "Yes, we'll do it… if that's what you want." He threw me a questioning, almost pleading glance.

"Yes, it is," I replied firmly.

Raoul gave another sob.

"I'll miss you so much, Christine," he whispered.

Hearing him sound that desperate made my heart ache.

"I'll miss you, too," I gave back. "But it has to be done."

He looked at me, his beautiful eyes filled with tears. Without thinking about what I was doing, I leaned over and kissed his foreheard. Then my lips descended upon his. He responded instantly, and I could feel myself losing control over the situation. His smell and his touch were so familiar.

"This doesn't change anything," I breathed as he pulled me to my feet and led me to the sofa in the library. "Just one more time…"

"One more time," Raoul echoed, starting to unbutton my dress.


	184. Chapter One Hundred and EightyFour

**Author's note:** Bad news, my dears. This is the last chapter. Yes, I know you'll think it's a little sudden, but it has been planned like that for a long time. I can't thank you enough for all the support you've given me. Your kind words of praise and encouragement have helped me through more than one crisis. Thank you once more. Oh, and since every piece of bad news should come with good ones: For the last weeks, I've been breeding a nice little family of plot bunnies in the back garden of my mind. I'll definitely write a sequel to this story. So keep your eyes open! All the best, Jenny Wren

**Chapter One Hundred and Eighty-Four**

**September 18****th**** 1892: **_Christine_

Raoul had fallen asleep almost immediately after we had been finished. A last, sleepy kiss, a murmur of "I love you", and his eyelids had drooped. I hadn't been that lucky. My body felt pleasantly heavy and content, but my mind was wide awake. I doubted that I'd fall asleep, even if I lay here for as long as a week.

I couldn't help thinking that by allowing Raoul to do what he had done, I had only made things worse. The words ´one more time´ had been repeated by both of us countless times, and still I wasn't sure whether he had really meant them. Perhaps he was dreaming as he lay there, dreaming of a future with me. And when he woke up, his dream would burst like a bubble.

It would have been better if I had just left the library right after our conversation instead of staying and letting my body take control over my mind. It had been wrong in so many ways, and yet… I gave a little sigh. It had felt very good. There was one aspect in which I held myself back, though: I didn't compare Raoul's performance to Erik's. It simply wouldn't have been right to do so.

I knew I had to go. If I was still here when Raoul woke up, he'd get his hopes up and would be even more disappointed. I kissed his cheek softly and got up from the sofa. He mumbled something in his sleep and rolled into a more comfortable position. At least he had more space now. I spotted a blanket lying on an armchair and covered him with it. After all, I did care for him and didn't want him to catch a cold.

When I could be sure that he was warm and comfortable, I picked up my clothes from the floor and dressed quickly. They were dirty and smelled of smoke and sweat, yet since I didn't have anything else, I had to put them on. It occurred to me that I was the only one who hadn't washed herself yet. There just hadn't been enough time. If I was content with cold water, however, I'd still be able to do it later. I didn't want to go to bed like this.

Go to bed… I didn't know where to go at all. Of course I knew which room Meg had wanted Raoul and me to take. It was right next to the children's room. But I knew just as well that I couldn't go there. If Raoul woke up while it was still night, he'd doubtlessly head for the same room to continue sleeping, and if I was there as well, things would become very awkward indeed.

I'd have to go and ask Meg where I could spend the night. I couldn't help thinking that surely she was running out of rooms to give us, but I'd also take a sofa, as long as it was far away from anyone who could disturb me. The thought of my friend brought back the memory of what she had said to me in the children's bedroom. She had wanted to tell me something. Well, she'd be able to do so now. I could only hope that she was still awake.

She was. I had barely finished knocking at the door of her bedroom when she opened it. She was wearing a nightdress, but put on a dressing gown quickly when she saw it was me. Stepping into the corridor, she closed the door quietly with her free hand.

"Finally," she said. "Erik was here at least an hour ago, asking me which room he could have. He told me you were still talking to Raoul, but I didn't think it would take that long. I nearly fell asleep."

She put a finger under my chin and looked closely at my face, frowning.

"You've been crying," she stated softly. "Erik seemed to be upset as well. Did the two of you have an argument? Or did it have something to do with Raoul and you? Oh…" She suddenly looked shocked. "I shouldn't ask all those questions, should I? Otherwise you'll walk away from me again."

"I'm sorry that I did it before," I said. "I just didn't want to talk about it."

"But I'm your best friend, Christine," she reminded me gently. "You can tell me anything. You know I would never judge you."

So I told her. Standing there in the corridor, I told her everything. I told her about Erik and Raoul and me and about all the things that had happened. It was good to talk to someone. When I was finished, I felt exhausted, but in a better way than before.

"Of course you can stay here," Meg stated. "You're my guests as long as you want. Jean and I love having the children and you around, and if Raoul comes to visit them, he can stay for the night as well. That would underline the story you've made up, wouldn't it?"

I breathed a sigh of relief. All the things I had planned in such a short time wouldn't have worked without her agreeing to let us stay. I was sure that I'd have found another place for us, but it would have made everything much more complicated.

Yet once the first wave of relief had gone, I realised that Meg hadn't given me her opinion on the subject, which was not like her at all.

"Do you think I've made the right decision?" I asked, looking at her anxiously.

"That is not something we should discuss here in the corridor," she gave back, not meeting my eye. She took me by the hand and led me to the nearest room.

When she opened the door, I saw a small room, almost identical to the one Antoinette and Philippe slept in. The only difference was that there was just one bed instead of two.

"You can spend the night here," she told me, talking rather more quickly than she usually did. "Once Raoul will have found another place to stay, you can move into the big bedroom, but for the moment, you should have everything you need here. The bed needs fresh sheets, but maybe you can do that yourself. Or I can send a maid to you later, and she'll – "

"That's all very well, Meg," I interrupted her. "But you still haven't answered my question. Do you think I've made the right decision?"

She paused, her hand still on the lamp she had just lit.

"I don't know," she replied slowly. "It all seems a little… abrupt to me. Are you sure you've thought it over carefully?"

I nodded impatiently.

"Of course I've thought it over," I told her. "Do you believe I'd make such a decision without thinking about it?"

"No," Meg muttered, looking very uncomfortable. "I just know that it has been a very long and very difficult day for you, and I'm not sure whether you should have made such an important decision at the end of this day."

I made a dismissive gesture with my hands.

"Erik and Raoul always used to try and talk me into making a decision," I said, my voice sounding a little shrill. My temper was rising. "And now that I've done so, it's not right either. Can't you ever make up your mind?"

I sank down onto the bed, feeling empty and drained of energy. Would there ever be a day when I'd do everything correctly?

Meg seemed to realise how miserable I was, for she sat down next to me and put a comforting arm around my shoulders.

"Making decisions is never easy," she told me. "But it's important. Think of all the times when you couldn't make up your mind, and the situation only became worse. We've talked about it more than once. Now you have made a decision, and that in itself is good. You just have to live with it. Perhaps it was good for you to have done it today after all. On a normal day, you probably wouldn't have dared do it."

I nodded slowly. I hadn't thought about it like that myself, but she had a point.

"But now I've lost both Erik and Raoul," I mumbled. "I'll be all alone."

"You're _not_ alone," Meg stressed. "You have your children, you have Jean and me, you have my mother… and soon you'll also have a godchild."

She beamed at me. Once more, one of her hands was resting on her belly, but now that I wasn't busy with my own problems, I noticed something I hadn't noticed before: It was not the same sad gesture I was used to seeing, but a new, protective one I knew only too well from myself.

"You're with child?" I exclaimed.

"Yes!" she gave back, flinging her arms around me. "The doctor only told me this afternoon. He came to the opera to see a dancer with a sprained ankle, and I asked him to have a look at me as well. I had been hoping and hoping for the last days, but I didn't tell anyone because I had been disappointed so often before. But this time it is true!"

"Oh, that's wonderful," I said, holding my friend at arm's length and looking into her happy face. "This was what you wanted to tell me, wasn't it?"

"I wanted to do it a little more dramatically, but it simply slipped out," she admitted with a grin. "Oh, Christine, you wouldn't believe how happy I am…"

My smile faded. I thought back to when the roles had been reversed, when I had told Meg about my first pregnancy, then about the second. We had been delighted and celebrated all night long. Life had been so easy back then, and now… My eyes filled with tears for what felt like the hundredth time this evening.

"Shhh…" Meg muttered, wrapping her arm around my shoulders again and pulling me close. "It'll be fine. _You_ will be fine. Don't you see what this means? Life goes on, Christine. We mustn't dwell on our past decisions, but try to make the most of them. We have to go on living."

I looked at the hand on her still flat belly, and in that one moment, I couldn't help believing her. Life would go on. It would go on for Erik, for Raoul and for myself. And maybe those lives would interweave again one day.

**The End**


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